"I was looking through some old rubbish," said Lovat more at his ease.
"I know what sort of rubbish," replied Muckle John, extracting a letter before the old man could check his hand, "how would this sound, eh? It's no what we might call cordial to Geordie."
"I am an old sick man," said Lovat, with a suspicion of whining, "scarce able to read or write. My memory is near gone and my faculties all amiss. What do you want with me? It is late and I have much to do."
"Perhaps your lordship will remember Castleleathers, who was once your good friend."
"What of him?"
"He did me a service abroad. Yesterday I was with him in Inverness. He told me much about you, my lord—and your promises."
Lovat shrugged his shoulders.
"It is easy to listen to one side of a matter," he replied tartly. "Castleleathers is a fool—I have never suffered fools gladly."
"Even you make mistakes sometimes, my lord."
The fear of capture took Lovat by the throat.