Neal lay quiet, but wide awake. The conversation interested him too much to allow him to sleep. Twice he tried to speak, but each time Peg Macllrea, determined now that he was under her care to keep him quiet, put her hand over his mouth. At last he succeeded in asserting himself in spite of her. “I saw James Finlay,” he said, “along with a party of the soldiers going up this street.” The three men at the table turned to him. Donald seemed about to cross-question him when Peg Macllrea spoke. “Is it a bit of the soger’s paper you’re wantin’? Here’s for you.” She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and drew out a crumpled scrap of paper. “I snapped it out of his hand in the kitchen. It was for grabbing it that he catched me by the hair o’ the head. I saw him glowerin’ at it as soon as ever he came intil the light.” Donald Ward took it from her hand and read-- “The house of Felix Matier, an inn at the far end of North Street, to be known easily by the sign of Dumouriez which hangs before the door. Felix Matier is + + +.” He passed it without comment to Matier, who read it and laughed. “They have me marked with three crosses,” he said. “I’m dangerous. But what do they mean by it. How do they come to know so much about me? “‘Ken ye aught of Captain Grose Igo and ago. Is he amang friends or foes? Iram, coram, dago.’ “Who set the dragoons on you?” said Donald. “That’s the question.” “By God, then, it’s easily answered,” said Matier. “I’ll give it to you in the words of the poet-- “‘Letters four do form his name. He let them loose and cried Halloo! To him alone the praise is due.’ “P.I.T.T. Does that content you?” “Pitt,” said Donald. “Oh, I see. That’s true, no doubt. But I want some one nearer hand than Pitt. Who gave them this paper? Whose is the writing on it?” “I can tell you that,” said James Bigger. “I have a note in my pocket this minute from the man who wrote that. It’s a summons to a meeting for important business at the house of Aeneas Moylin, on the hill of Donegore, next week.” “Have you?” said Donald. “Ay, and the man’s name is James Finlay.” A dead silence followed the statement. It was Donald who broke it. “I reckon, friend Bigger, that I’ll go with you to that meeting. We’ll take Neal here along, too. He knows the man. There’ll be some important business done that night, though maybe not quite the same as what James Finlay has planned.” CHAPTER VIII