“Indeed did he, sir; he didn’t swear, but he said that as soon as he was well, the quarrel should end in blood.” (Sensation in court.) “Had Craig any other enemy?”
“That he had—old Laird Fletcher. They met at the riverside one day, and had a row, and fought. I saw and heard everything. Craig Nicol told the old Laird that he would have nobody snuffling round his lady love. Then they off-coat and fought. Man! it was fine! The Laird put in some good ones, but the young ’un had it at last. Then he flung the Laird into the river, and when he got out he threatened to do for poor Craig Nicol.” (Sensation.)
Sandie paused to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, and took snuff before he could proceed.
“You think,” said the coroner, “that Laird Fletcher meant to carry out his threat?”
“I don’t know. I only know this—he was in doonright devilish earnest when he made it.”
“I am here,” said Laird Fletcher, “and here, too, are five witnesses to prove that I have not been twice outside my own gate since Craig Nicol started for Aberdeen. Once I was at the Hall, and my groom here drove me there and back; I was too ill to walk.”
The witnesses were examined on oath, and no alibi was ever more clearly proven. Laird Fletcher was allowed to leave the court without a stain on his character.
“I am sorry to say, gentlemen,” addressing the jury, “that there appears no way out of the difficulty, and that his poverty would alone have led Grahame to commit the terrible deed, to say nothing of his threat that the quarrel would end in blood. Poor Craig Nicol has been robbed, and foully, brutally murdered, and Reginald Grahame sails almost immediately after for the South Seas. I leave the verdict with you.”
Without leaving the box, and after a few minutes of muttered conversation, the foreman stood up.
“Have you agreed as to your verdict?”