Falconer made no reply to this. There was the story of a whole life in his silence—past and to come.
He merely said:
“You can leave the gentleman with me, then, John. I’ll take care of him.”
“No fear o’ that, sir. Deil a bit! though a’ the policemen i’ Lonnon war efter ‘im.”
“I’m much obliged to you for bringing him.”
“The obligation’s mine sir—an’ the gentleman’s. Good nicht, sir. Good nicht, Mr. Sutherlan’. Ye’ll ken whaur to fin’ me gin ye want me. Yon’s my beat for anither fortnicht.”
“And you know my quarters,” said Hugh, shaking him by the hand. “I am greatly obliged to you.”
“Not a bit, sir. Or gin ye war, ye sud be hertily welcome.”
“Bring candles, Mrs. Ashton,” Falconer called from the door. Then, turning to Hugh, “Sit down, Mr. Sutherland,” he said, “if you can find a chair that is not illegally occupied already. Perhaps we had better wait for the candles. What a pleasant day we have had!”
“Then you have been more pleasantly occupied than I have,” thought Hugh, to whose mind returned the images of the Appleditch family and its drawing-room, followed by the anticipation of the distasteful duties of the morrow. But he only said: