"I was,--though I don't see what it is to you."
"Weel, weel, I wis leukin' for ye, but didnae see ye."
"What did you want with me?" asked Kyles, fiercely.
"Joost tae hae a crack."
"What about?"
"Hoots, it's a lang story, and I'm gey dry."
This was an intimation that the Captain should replenish Mr. Gowrie's empty glass, but Kyles did not take the hint. Instead of answering, he stared gloomily at the old man, and seemed to be thinking deeply. Presently his face cleared, and he stopped pulling his long black moustache.
"Later on you can come to my parlour and have a talk," he said, brightly, "just now I have to see to something before I sit down to my dinner."
"Aye," murmured the old scamp to himself, when Kyles vanished once more into the night. "It's a guilty conscience I'm theenking. I wunner noo, if the mon wis in the inn, as Mistress Mountford says. She's got a liar's eye, has yon limmer, and yet yon hint o' a meetin' at midnicht seemed tae startle the black-avised laddie. Will ye walk intae mae parlour, says he. Maybe I will, but ye'll nae devour me, ye spider. Dods, but there's mair in this nor talk I'm of opeenion. Hech, but I'll pit mae best fut foremaist, and get on the windy side o' the man. He's nae gangin' tae get the upper hand o' Michael Gowrie, Maister o' Arts. I'll joost bide ma time."
This he did, and while waiting for the return of the buccaneer he partook largely of whisky, so that in an hour he was in a gloriously talkative mood. Kyles did not return, and Gowrie fancied that the buccaneer, conscience-stricken, had levanted. This being his belief, he waited for another hour, and then, when it was close upon seven o'clock, he rose and stretched himself.