"We want your advice, mistress," Dickson told her, and accordingly,
like a barrister with a client, she seated herself carefully in the big
easy chair, found and adjusted her spectacles, and waited with hands
folded on her lap to hear the business. Dickson narrated their
pre-supper doings, and gave a sketch of Dougal's evidence. His
exposition was cautious and colourless, and without conviction. He
seemed to expect a robust incredulity in his hearer.

Mrs. Morran listened with the gravity of one in church. When Dickson
finished she seemed to meditate. "There's no blagyird trick that would
surprise me in thae new folk. What's that ye ca' them--Lean and
Spittal? Eppie Home threepit to me they were furriners, and these are
no furrin names."

"What I want to hear from you, Mrs. Morran," said Dickson impressively,
"is whether you think there's anything in that boy's story?"

"I think it's maist likely true. He's a terrible impident callant, but
he's no' a leear."

"Then you think that a gang of ruffians have got two lone women shut up
in that house for their own purposes?"

"I wadna wonder."

"But it's ridiculous! This is a Christian and law-abiding country.
What would the police say?"

"They never troubled Dalquharter muckle. There's no' a polisman nearer
than Knockraw--yin Johnnie Trummle, and he's as useless as a frostit
tattie."

"The wiselike thing, as I think," said Dickson, "would be to turn the
Procurator-Fiscal on to the job. It's his business, no' ours."

"Well, I wadna say but ye're richt,' said the lady.

"What would you do if you were us?" Dickson's tone was subtly
confidential. "My friend here wants to get into the House the morn
with that red-haired laddie to satisfy himself about the facts. I say
no. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say, and if you think the beasts are mad,
report to the authorities. What would you do yourself?"

"If I were you," came the emphatic reply, "I would tak' the first train
hame the morn, and when I got hame I wad bide there. Ye're a dacent
body, but ye're no' the kind to be traivellin' the roads."

"And if you were me?' Heritage asked with his queer crooked smile.

"If I was young and yauld like you I wad gang into the Hoose, and I
wadna rest till I had riddled oot the truith and jyled every scoondrel
about the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my coats and gang
mysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year no' to hae the
honour o' the Hoose at