"The Governor?" queried Herries, smiling.
"Yes. I see you've made up your mind to act, so there's no chance of my guiding you any further. And I'm glad of it, Guv'nor," added the Cheap-jack, heartily, "you have plenty of resolution, and only need to exercise it. Now then, we're tiled in all right, so fire ahead and find out what this old----"
"I'm the Rev. Michael Gowrie, saving your presence," said that gentleman in an aggrieved tone.
"You are whatever pays you best," retorted Kind. "Here, have some more whisky, and answer the Guv'nor's questions straight, or I'll wring that blessed old neck of yours."
"Elspeth!"
"I agree with Sweetlips, father," said the girl with resolution. "If you don't act straightly, I'll accuse you myself of having murdered Sir Simon, even though you are my own father."
"I," gasped Gowrie turning pale, all but his nose, which everlastingly gleamed a bright crimson, "I murder----?"
"It looks like it," put in Herries, who had been watching the old trickster, "you've run your head into the noose, Mr. Gowrie."
"I'm--I'm--innocent, damn ye."
"Very good. Then explain what took place on that night."