'
'That's as muckle as to say, accordin' to Cocker, that I'm no to
speik a word against him. But I'll say what I like. He's no my
maister,' said MacGregor, who could drink very little without
suffering in his temper and manners; and who, besides, had a certain
shrewd suspicion as to the person who still sat in the dark end of
the room, possibly because the entrance of Mr. Lammie had
interrupted the exorcism.
The chairman interposed with soothing words; and the whole company,
Cocker included, did its best to pacify the manufacturer; for they
all knew what would be the penalty if they failed.
A good deal of talk followed, and a good deal of whisky was drunk.
They were waited upon by Meg, who, without their being aware of it,
cast a keen parting glance at them every time she left the room. At
length the conversation had turned again to Andrew Falconer's death.
'Whaur said ye he dee'd, Mr. Lammie?'
'I never said he was deid. I said I was feared 'at he was deid.'
'An' what gars ye say that? It micht be o' consequence to hae 't
correck,' said the solicitor.
'I had a letter frae my auld frien' and his, Dr. Anderson. Ye min'
upo' him, Mr. Innes, dunna ye? He's heid o' the medical boord at
Calcutta noo. He says naething but that he doobts he's gane. He
gaed up the country, and he hasna hard o' him for sae lang. We hae
keepit up a correspondence for mony a year noo, Dr. Anderson an' me.
He was a relation o' Anerew's, ye ken--a second cousin, or
something.
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