Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 21
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 21
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
In an instant Fairly was stationed by the side of the fire, with a can
of Martin's brandy in his hands, and an expression of exceeding surprise
on his countenance as he perceived my mother's son in full length
exhibited before him. I did not, however, use the ceremony of a formal
recognition; but, rushing on his person, I clung to it with all the
convulsive desperation of a person drowning. Matters were now adjusted
by mutual recognitions and explanations; and I learned that I had been
the unconscious spectator of a scuffle betwixt the "king's officers"
and a "band of smugglers;" and that Fairly, who had been preaching and
baptizing that day at Burnfoot, and was on his return towards Durrisdeer
(where he was next day to officiate), had heard and been attracted to
the spot by the firing. In these times to which I refer, the Isle of Man
formed a depot for illegal traffic. Tea, brandy, and tobacco, in
particular, found their way from the Calf of Man to the Rinns of
Galloway, Richmaden, and the mouth of the Solway. From the latter depot
the said articles were smuggled, during night marches, into the
interior, through such byways and mountain passes as were unfrequented
or inaccessible. After suitable libations had been made, I was mounted
betwixt a couple of panniers, and soon found myself in my own bed, some
time before
"That hour o' night's black arch the keystane!"
THE DETECTIVE'S TALE.
THE CHANCE QUESTION.
It is not long since the cleverest of these strangely constituted men
called detectives [_entre nous_ myself] went up to his superintendent
with a very rueful face, and told him that all his energies were vain in
discovering a clue to an extensive robbery of plate which had occurred
in ---- Street some short time before.
"I confess myself fairly baffled," he said; and could say no more.
"With that singular foxhound organ of yours?" replied his superior. "The
herring must have been well smoked."
"At the devil's own fire of pitch and brimstone," said the detective.
"But the worst is, I have had no trail to be taken off. I never was so
disconcerted before. Generally some object to point direction, if even
only a dead crow or smothered sheep; but here, not even that."
"No trace of P---- or any of the English gang?"
"None; all beyond the bounds, or up chimneys, or down in cellars, or
covered up in coal-bunkers. I am beginning to think the job to be of
home manufacture."
"Generally a clumsy affair; and therefore very easy for a man of your
parts. What reason have you?"
"Absolutely none."
"That is, I fancy," said the superintendent, "the thousand pounds of
good silver, watches, and rings, are absolutely gone."
"You know my conditions," said the officer: "give me the thing stolen,
and I will find to a living certainty the man who stole it; or give me
the man who stole it, and I will find you to a dead certainty the thing
stolen. But it's a deuced unfortunate thing that a man can't get even a
sniff."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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