“Will ye tell him, mem, ‘at hoo John MacPherson, the policeman, would like sair to see him?”
“I will,” she answered; and went in, leaving them at the door.
She returned in a moment, and, inviting them to enter, ushered them into a large bare room, in which there was just light enough for Hugh to recognize, to his astonishment, the unmistakeable figure of the man whom he had met in Whitechapel, and whom he had afterwards seen apparently watching him from the gallery of the Olympic Theatre.
“How are you, MacPherson?” said a deep powerful voice, out of the gloom.
“Verra weel, I thank ye, Mr. Falconer. Hoo are ye yersel’, sir?”
“Very well too, thank you. Who is with you?”
“It’s a gentleman, sir, by the name o’ Mr. Sutherlan’, wha wants your help, sir, aboot somebody or ither ‘at he’s enteresstit in, wha’s disappeared.”
Falconer advanced, and, bowing to Hugh said, very graciously:
“I shall be most happy to serve Mr. Sutherland, if in my power. Our friend MacPherson has rather too exalted an idea of my capabilities, however.”
“Weel, Maister Falconer, I only jist spier at yersel’, whether or no ye was ever dung wi’ onything ye took in han’.”