“You can’t prove anything against me,” he at length answered, moving along with me in apparent confidence. “I can prove a _nalibi_, as it’s called. I was in Fernie’s public-house in the Pleasance all the afternoon, and was put out there drunk, and lugged into the Office long before the robbery came off. I was drunk, but I knew what I was about, and I know I was never near the Meadows.” “Done!” I cried. “Oh, you fool! Why did you say so much? You’ve convicted yourself by speaking of an _alibi_. It was the only link awanting in the chain of evidence, for I could not conceive why you should pretend to be drunk and then get back to the High Street and have yourself locked up as drunk and incapable. Thank you, Benjie, for your help in this matter. It was all a clever _alibi_ you were arranging?” Benjie emitted one oath, and then became silent, conscious, doubtless, of the soundness of my remarks. An hour or two after he had been locked up, I had Peggy Reid brought to see him, when she unhesitatingly identified him as the man who had held the handkerchief to her mouth on the night of the robbery. This drove the last prop out from under Benjie, and he plaintively asked if Pauley was to be accepted as evidence. Being informed that that was a likely contingency, he thereupon stated that he would prefer to plead guilty, in order that Pauley might suffer along with him. His benevolent intention was humoured, and the three went to the Penitentiary together, Benjie getting the lion’s share in the number of years. JIM HUTSON’S KNIFE. Jim’s mother touched me on the arm as I ushered him into the Police Court for the first time. I remember it all as well as if it had happened yesterday. She had been loitering about the lobby, tearful and oppressed, but was roused as by an electric shock when “James Hutson!” was shouted out, and echoed through the corridor. She gripped my arm as I was hurrying him in at the door, and the whole arm attached to those rigid fingers shook as with an ague. The tearful eyes brimmed over freely, and the parted lips moved, but for a moment no sound came forth. “Jim was aye a guid laddie,” she at length chokingly articulated. “He’s been led away; he was never meant for a thief. Save him! make it licht for him, and he’ll never come back here. Oh, Maister M^cGovan, he’s the only ane left me—the only ane oot o’ six.”