My immediate task was to have the drain explored, but that was all labour thrown away. The rush of water had been too strong, and the chain was gone, buried in mud and slime, or carried away to sea. I soon had abundant evidence that Chisholm had been on the spree for a fortnight about the time stated by Burge, but my intention of weaving a complete web round him was stayed by a message from himself, asking to see me that he might tell all he knew of the watch and chain. He did not know that I had failed to get the chain, or he might have risked absolute silence. “Ye ken, I’m a bit of a fancier of birds,” he said, in beginning his story. “Including watches and chains,” I interposed. “I was oot very early ae Sunday morning, for however late I’m up on a Saturday, I can never sleep on Sunday morning,” he continued, with a dutiful grin at my remark. “I gaed doon by the Abbey Hill to the Easter Road, and when I was hauf way to Leith I saw a yellow finch flee oot at a dyke where its nest was, and begin flichering along on the grund to draw me away frae the place. Cunnin’ brutes them birds, but I was fly for it, and instead o’ following it, and believing it couldna flee, I stoppit and begoud to look for the nest in the dyke. But before I got forrit I had kind o’ lost the exact place. I searched aboot, wi’ the bird watchin’ me geyan feared-like a wee bit off, and at last I found a hole half filled up wi’ a loose stane. Oot cam’ the stane, and in gaed my haund; but instead o’ a nest I fund a gold watch and chain; and that’s the God’s truth, though I should dee this meenit.” “Did you mention the finding to any one?” “No me; I didna even tell my daughter, for I kent if it was fund oot I might get thirty days for keeping it up. I had an idea that the watch had been stolen and planted there, or I might have gaen to a pawnshop wi’ it. It was kind o’ damaged wi’ lying in the dyke, so at last I made up a story and sellt it to Maister Burge.” “You are good at making up stories, I think?” I reflectively observed. “I’m thinkin’ there’s a pair of us, Maister M^cGovan,” he readily returned, with a pawky dab at my ribs.