“Well, show him up, then.”
“Ooh! sir,” said Sally, with a Plutonic sigh, and began to undo the hooks of her dress; “if you wouldn’t mind, sir, just put on my frock and apron, and take a jug in your hand, an’ the pleaceman’ll never look at you. I’ll take care of everything till you come back, sir.” And again she burst into tears.
Sally was a great reader of the Family Herald, and knew that this was an orthodox plan of rescuing a prisoner. The kindness of her anxiety moderated the expression of Hugh’s amusement; and having convinced her that he was in no danger, he easily prevailed upon her to bring the policeman upstairs.
Over a tumbler of toddy, the weaker ingredients of which were procured by Sally’s glad connivance, with a lingering idea of propitiation, and a gentle hint that Missus mustn’t know—the two Scotchmen, seated at opposite corners of the fire, had a long chat. They began about the old country, and the places and people they both knew, and both didn’t know. If they had met on the shores of the central lake of Africa, they could scarcely have been more couthy together. At length Hugh referred to the object of his application to MacPherson.
“What plan would you have me pursue, John, to get hold of a man in London?”
“I could manage that for ye, sir. I ken maist the haill mengie o’ the detaictives.”
“But you see, unfortunately, I don’t wish, for particular reasons, that the police should have anything to do with it.”
“Ay! ay! Hm! Hm! I see brawly. Ye’ll be efter a stray sheep, nae doot?”
Hugh did not reply; so leaving him to form any conclusion he pleased.
“Ye see,” MacPherson continued, “it’s no that easy to a body that’s no up to the trade. Hae ye ony clue like, to set ye spierin’ upo’?”