“A thousand thanks for all your kindness, sir. I’m sure you will do your best.”
“I will.”
Once more the gaoler entered.
“The doctor sends you this,” he said. “And drink it you must, or you may faint in the dock, and the case be delayed.”
At last the move was made. Dazed and dizzy, Reginald hardly knew whither he was being led, until he found himself in the dock confronting the solemn and sorrowful-looking judge. He looked just once around the court, which was crowded to excess. He half-expected, I think, to see Annie there, and was relieved to find she was not in court. But yonder was Captain Dickson and the four sailors who had remained behind to prosecute the gold digging. Dickson smiled cheerfully and nodded. Then one of the policemen whispered attention, and the unhappy prisoner at once confronted the judge.
“Reginald Grahame,” said the latter after some legal formalities were gone through, “you are accused of the wilful murder of Craig Nicol, farmer on Deeside, by stabbing him to the heart with a dirk or skean dhu. Are you guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty, my lord.” This in a firm voice, without shake or tremolo.
“Call the witnesses.”
The first to be examined was Craig’s old housekeeper. She shed tears profusely, and in a faint tone testified to the departure of her master for Aberdeen with the avowed intention of drawing money to purchase stock withal. She was speedily allowed to stand down.
The little boys who had found the body beneath the dark spruce-fir in the lonely plantation were next interrogated, and answered plainly enough in their shrill treble.