“I dinna deny but what I made my feet my friend, but it wasna her that blew the horn. I ken that, for I looked back and saw her trying to do’t, but she couldna, she didna ken the way.”
“Then who did blow it?”
“The first man she met, I suppose. We a’ kent that the horn was to be the signal except Wearywarld. He’s police, so we kept it frae him.”
“That is all you saw of the woman?”
“Ay, for I ran straucht to my garret, and there your men took me. Can I gae hame now, sheriff?”
“No, you cannot. Describe the woman’s appearance.”
“She had a heap o’ rowan berries stuck in her hair, and, I think, she had on a green wrapper and a red shawl. She had a most extraordinary face. I canna exact describe it, for she would be lauchin’ one second and syne solemn the next. I tell you her face changed as quick as you could turn the pages o’ a book. Ay, here comes Wearywarld to speak up for me.”
Wearyworld entered cheerfully.
“This is the local policeman,” a Tilliedrum officer said; “we have been searching for him everywhere, and only found him now.”