"Ye're nae paid tae theenk," retorted Gowrie with his grand air, "gae spin, ye jade, and bring me th' flowin' bowl,--th' which Tommy Moore sang aboot."
"Y' must pay me a'ead."
"An' hoo muckle for the bedroom an' the' parlour?"
"There ain't no parlour. Capting Kyles 'as thet, and th' bedroom es the old gent wos a-murdered in. But y' kin 'ave the room es yer son-in-law slep' in. Boar' an' lodgin'," added Mrs. Narby glibly, "two quid a week, in advance."
"Hoots! Ye're demented, woman. Twa pun', says she, the deil tak her for a greedy glede. Nae, nae, ye'll nae pairt a Scotchmon frae his siller sae easily. I'll gie ye haulf-a-croon a nicht for ma room and pay ma victuals as I gang."
"Capting Kyles guy me three quid," said Mrs. Narby sullenly.
"The mair fule he. Weel, tak it or e'en leave it. I'm nae verra carein' tae stap in a butt an' a ben o' this sort. I joost cam' here tae show ye I wisnae prood or puffed up by mae prosperity, for th' sake o' auld lang syne, as ye micht pit it, and nae lee."
"You can stop at that price by the daiy," said Mrs. Narby, after some reflection, "but there's a lot of fellers come 'ere to stop 'cos of thet there murder. If I gets a better lodger, out y' goes."
This just suited Gowrie, as he knew that Mrs. Narby was bluffing. No one would stop at the "Marsh Inn" while the season was so wet, notwithstanding the attraction of the murder. What Captain Kyles was doing in such a damp locality he could not think, unless indeed the Captain was trying to hide his tracks in the affair of the murder, always supposing that he was guilty. Gowrie was not sure of this, in spite of Mrs. Mountford's accusation. Nor did he believe the rash statement of Herries that Mrs. Mountford herself had committed the crime. But if she was innocent and Kyles was not guilty, who had killed the old man? This was what Gowrie wished to learn, and he soon saw that he had set himself a very difficult task.
"Weel," said he, when Mrs. Narby gave her decision, "we'll close on those terrums. I'll tack ma room by the nicht an ma board by the day. There's haulf-a-croon in advaunce, an' dinna waste it. Where's yon gowk o' a Pope?"