MOORE. Muck. Was that the thundering cove that peached? HUNT. That was the thundering cove. MOORE. And is he corpsed? HUNT. I should just about reckon he was. MOORE. Then, damme, I don’t mind swinging! HUNT. We’ll talk about that presently. M’Intyre and Stewart, you get a stretcher, and take that rubbish to the office. Pick it up; it’s only a dead informer. Hand these two gentlemen over to Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, with Mr. Jerry Hunt’s compliments. Johnstone and Syme, you come along with me. I’ll bring the Deacon round myself. * * * * * ACT-DROP ACT V. TABLEAU VIII. THE OPEN DOOR _The Stage represents the Deacon’s room_, _as in Tableau I_. _Fire light_. _Stage dark_. _A pause_. _Then knocking at the door_, _C._ _Cries without of_ ‘WILLIE!’ ‘MR. BRODIE!’ _The door is burst open_. SCENE I DOCTOR, MARY, a MAIDSERVANT with lights. DOCTOR. The apartment is unoccupied. MARY. Dead, and he not here! DOCTOR. The bed has not been slept in. The counterpane is not turned down. MARY. It is not true; it cannot be true. DOCTOR. My dear young lady, you must have misunderstood your brother’s language. MARY. O no; that I did not. That I am sure I did not. DOCTOR (_looking at door_). The strange thing is . . . the bolt. SERVANT. It’s unco strange. DOCTOR. Well, we have acted for the best. SERVANT. Sir, I dinna think this should gang nae further. DOCTOR. The secret is in our keeping. Affliction is enough without scandal. MARY. Kind heaven, what does it mean? DOCTOR. I think there is no more to be done. MARY. I am here alone, Doctor; you pass my uncle’s door? DOCTOR. The Procurator-Fiscal? I shall make it my devoir. Expect him soon. (_Goes out with_ MAID.) MARY (_hastily searches the room_). No, he is not there. She was right! O father, you can never know, praise God! SCENE II MARY, _to whom_ JEAN _and afterwards_ LESLIE JEAN (_at door_). Mistress . . . ! MARY. Ah! Who is there? Who are you? JEAN. Is he no hame yet? I’m aye waitin’ on him. MARY. Waiting for him? Do you know the Deacon? You? JEAN. I maun see him. Eh, lassie, it’s life and death. MARY. Death . . . O my heart! JEAN. I maun see him, bonnie leddie. I’m a puir body, and no fit to be seen speakin’ wi’ the likes o’ you. But O lass, ye are the Deacon’s sister, and ye hae the Deacon’s e’en, and for the love of the dear kind Lord, let’s in and hae a word wi’ him ere it be ower late. I’m bringin’ siller. MARY. Siller? You? For him? O father, father, if you could hear! What are you? What are you . . . to him? JEAN. I’ll be the best frien’ ’at ever he had; for, O dear leddie, I wad gie my bluid to help him. MARY. And the . . . the child? JEAN. The bairn?