"Aye," said Gowrie placidly, but making a shot in the dark, "at mirk midnicht, when the fiends o' gory bluid were abroad in this very inn nae sae lang ago." "What the devil do you mean? I never stopped at this inn before." "Then where did ye see me, sir?" "In the Court during the trial of young Herries." "Eh, then ye were there?" "I was,--though I don't see what it is to you." "Weel, weel, I wis leukin' for ye, but didnae see ye." "What did you want with me?" asked Kyles, fiercely. "Joost tae hae a crack." "What about?" "Hoots, it's a lang story, and I'm gey dry." This was an intimation that the Captain should replenish Mr. Gowrie's empty glass, but Kyles did not take the hint. Instead of answering, he stared gloomily at the old man, and seemed to be thinking deeply. Presently his face cleared, and he stopped pulling his long black moustache. "Later on you can come to my parlour and have a talk," he said, brightly, "just now I have to see to something before I sit down to my dinner." "Aye," murmured the old scamp to himself, when Kyles vanished once more into the night. "It's a guilty conscience I'm theenking. I wunner noo, if the mon wis in the inn, as Mistress Mountford says. She's got a liar's eye, has yon limmer, and yet yon hint o' a meetin' at midnicht seemed tae startle the black-avised laddie. Will ye walk intae mae parlour, says he. Maybe I will, but ye'll nae devour me, ye spider. Dods, but there's mair in this nor talk I'm of opeenion. Hech, but I'll pit mae best fut foremaist, and get on the windy side o' the man. He's nae gangin' tae get the upper hand o' Michael Gowrie, Maister o' Arts. I'll joost bide ma time." This he did, and while waiting for the return of the buccaneer he partook largely of whisky, so that in an hour he was in a gloriously talkative mood. Kyles did not return, and Gowrie fancied that the buccaneer, conscience-stricken, had levanted. This being his belief, he waited for another hour, and then, when it was close upon seven o'clock, he rose and stretched himself. "I'll joost tak a dander roond," he informed the casual guests, who had dropped in to drink and talk. "Aye, there's nae mair fervid admirer o' the warks of Nature nor me. But I doot if ye puir tillers o' the soil wud unnerstan' the grand thochts which come tae me when gazing at the glorious firmament. There's a Wully Shakespeare spoiled in me, I doot. Aye, the drink, the drink. Auld Nick's broth tae catch unwary mortals." With this final speech, which was Greek to the staring countrymen, he strolled forth by the front door into the street to look at the glorious firmament of which he had spoken. But the same was veiled by mists, and the night was extremely dark. No one was about the wet roads, not even Armour, the policeman; so Gowrie had every opportunity of doing that which he intended to do, which was to stroll down to the Red Creek, and see, if possible, what Mrs. Narby had been doing there.