"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