The Collected Works of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

“Remis—remishenshes. . . . They’re nathing o’ the sort! What for suld the Lord Justice-Clerk hae gi’en me a gowden guinea when Ah brocht him yon letter, gin it had been a matter o’ remyshish——”

      But the tall gentleman in black was no longer bored, no longer even on the other side of the alley. He was beside the speaker, gripping his shoulder. “What’s that you said about the Lord Justice-Clerk? For what letter, pray, did he give you a guinea?”

      The other tried to shuffle off the hand. “But that wad be tellin’,” he murmured, with a sly glance. “Forbye, sir, ye said ye werena wishfu’ for tae hear aboot ma remorrse. And indeed Ah hae nane the noo, for Ah’ve refleckit that Ah was but a puir body that was ready tae oblige the gentleman and earn a piece of siller.” He wriggled anew. “Ye’ll please tae let me gang, sir!”

      For all answer his captor laid hold of his other shoulder, and thus held Hendry Shand’s unsavoury person pinned against the wall. The rain, winged by a momentary gust, blew in upon them both unheeded. “Since you have chattered of your remorse and of Doctor Cameron’s death, you’ll tell me before you leave this place of what letter you were speaking, and why Lord Tinwald gave you a guinea for it. And you shall thereby earn two . . . if you tell the truth . . . and it’s worth it,” added the young Chief in a couple of afterthoughts.

      In the semi-darkness Hendry Shand’s eyes glistened. Finlay MacPhair saw the phenomenon, released him, pulled out a purse and, extracting two gold coins, held them up. Mr. Shand moistened his lips at that fair sight. But, half drunk as he was, he had not mislaid his native caution as completely as had at first appeared.

      “And wha’s tae judge if it’s warth it?” he enquired. “And why sud ye be sae wishfu’—” He broke off. “Are ye for Geordie or Jamie? Ah’d like fine tae ken that first.”

      “You cannot know who I am that you ask that,” replied the young man with hauteur. “I am MacPhair of Glenshian.”

      “Gude hae maircy on us!” ejaculated Hendry. “Ye’ll be the new Chief, then! The auld yin was for Jamie, they say, although he never stirred for him himsel’. Aiblins then ye were a frien’ o’ puir Doctor Cameron’s?”

      Finlay MacPhair bent his head. “I knew him well. And I am aware that he was informed against, and so captured. If the letter you took to Lord Tinwald had to do with that matter,”—his voice sank until it was almost drowned by the rain, “—and it had, had it not?—and if you will tell me who gave it to you, you shall know what it means to be for the rest of your days in the good graces of the Chief of Glenshian.”

      There was a pause, filled by the drip of the now slackening rain from overfilled gutters. Hendry passed his hand once or twice over his mouth, his eyes fixed on him who made this promise. “Aye,” he said slowly, “and what guid will that dae me when Ah hae ma craig yerked by the next Whig, or lie shiverin’ i’ the Tolbooth? What for did Ah no’ haud ma tongue a wee while langer!”

      The coins jingled in Glenshian’s impatient hand, and when the chairman spoke again his voice betrayed weakening.

      “Forbye Ah canna tell ye the name, for Ah never lairnt it.”

      “Nonsense!” said the young man roughly. “You are playing with me. I warn you ’tis no good holding out for more than I have offered.”

      “Gin ye were tae dress me in jewels,” replied Mr. Shand earnestly and inappropriately, “Ah cudna tell ye what Ah dinna ken masel’. Bit Ah can tell ye what like the man was,” he added.

      There was another pause. “I doubt ’twill not be worth the two guineas, then,” said Glenshian, in a tone which showed his disappointment. “But I’ll give you one.”

      “For ae guinea Ah’ll tell ye naething,” responded Hendry with firmness. He seemed a good deal less drunk than he had been. “But—hear ye noo!—for the twa Ah’ll tell ye what was intill the letter, for Ah ken that. And aiblins when Ah describe the gentleman tae ye, ye’ll find that ye ken him yersel’.”

      “It was a gentleman, then?”

      “For sure it was a gentleman like yersel’.”

      “Very good then,” said the new Chief, “the two guineas are yours. But”—he glanced round—“this is not a very suitable spot for you to earn them in. Is there not a more private place near?”

      “Aye, there’s ma ain wee bit hoose up the close—though ’tis hardly fit for the likes o’ yersel’, Chief of Glenshian. But you an’ me wad be oor lane there.”

      “Take me to it,” said Finlay MacPhair without hesitation.

      § 2

      Although it necessitated a change of scene to an environment even less pleasing than the unclean and draughty alley-way, Hendry Shand’s was not a long story. Late one evening in the March of the previous year he had, it seemed, been accosted by a gentleman—whom he described—and offered a crown if he would take a letter to the house of Lord Tinwald, the Lord Justice-Clerk. At first Hendry had thought that the gentleman was ill, for he was as pale as a corpse and his hand shook, but afterwards came to the conclusion that he was merely agitated. On Hendry’s asking if he should say whom the letter was from, and suggesting that the name, however, was probably inside it, the gentleman shook his head, and replied that the name was of no moment, though the letter was, and urged him to make haste.

      “Aweel,” continued Hendry now, as he sat upon his frowsty bed in the one tiny dark room which constituted his “hoose” and gave himself to the pleasures of narration, “aweel, Ah set ma best fit foremost and gaed doun the street. Syne Ah thocht Ah heard ma gentleman cry efter me, ‘Come back, come back!’, but Ah’d nae mind tae lose the croun he’d gi’en me, sae Ah took tae ma heels. A’ the way Ah was wonderin’ what micht be i’ the letter—for ye maun mind Ah hadna the least notion—an’ it may be that as Ah rinned Ah held the letter a wee bit ower tight in ma hand, for a’ on a sudden Ah heard the seal gie a crack. Syne Ah stoppit, and losh, the letter was open!”

      “In short, you opened it,” observed his listener.

      “Na, na,” denied Hendry; but an eyelid fluttered for a second. “Never say that, Chief o’ Glenshian! But, seein’ the bit letter was open, hadna Ah the richt tae lairn what for Ah was earnin’ a siller croun? . . . Aweel, ye can jalouse what was intill the letter—it sent the Doctor ootbye i’ the windy tae the gallows.”

      Mr. MacPhair drew a long breath. “You remember the wording?”

      “Aye, certes. ‘If ye wish tae tak Doctor Cameron, send wi’oot delay tae the hoose o’ Duncan Stewart o’ Glenbuckie in Balquhidder, where the writer saw him no’ ten days syne.’ ”

      “That was all? And there was no name of any kind—not even initials?”

      “No’ a letter! Ye may be sure Ah keekit inside an’ oot. There wasna a scratch. . . . Aweel, Ah cam tae Lord Tinwald’s hoose, an’ Ah thocht tae masel’, Gin this letter is sae important, the Lord Justice-Clerk may gie me anither croun tae lie beside ma gentleman’s. Sae Ah tellt his man there wad aiblins be an answer, ‘though Ah dinna ken for sure,’ Ah says, ‘for though the bit seal is broken, Ah canna read ae ward o’ write.’ (Yon was a guid lee, but it was better tae say that.) Syne the auld judge sent for me, and Ah cud see he was fair uplifted; and he speired what like was the man who gied me the letter. Ah tellt him, a douce sort o’ man, yin that Ah’d never seen afore in ma life. Then he gied me na croun, but a hale gowden guinea. . . . And when Ah heard that Doctor Cameron was ta’en by the redcoats i’ Glenbuckie, and a’ the Whigs in Enbra was sae cock-a-hoop, Ah had a mind tae gang tae Lord Tinwald and speir if the bit letter wasna worth mair, but Ah thocht better o’ it, for Ah micht hae fand masel’ i’ the Tolbooth for meddlin’ wi’ affairs o’ State. . . . And unless ye keep a shut mouth, Chief o’ Glenshian, Ah micht find masel’ there yet!”

      And he