"But you'll have gotten a guid idea whae's din it by noo, George?" said Mr. MacAlister persuasively.
"Weel," admitted the superintendent, "we maybe have our notions, but there's no evidence yet, Robbie; that's the fair truth. As the fiscal says, there's no evidence."
"I'd like fine to hae a crack wi' you aboot it, George," sighed Mr. MacAlister. "I may tell you I've notions of ma own; no bad notions either."
"Well," said the superintendent, moving off, "I'd have enjoyed a crack myself if it wasna that I've got to be off by this train—"
"Man!" cried his kinsman, "I'm for off by her mysel'! Come on, we'll hae our crack yet."
The tickets had already been taken and the doors were closed as the two recrossed the platform.
"This carriage is empty," said the superintendent, and threw open the door of the same compartment he had almost entered before.
But it was not empty now. In one of the further corners sat a man wrapped in a dark coloured ulster. A black felt hat was drawn down over his eyes, and his muffled face was resting on his hand. So much the superintendent saw in the brief moment during which he stood at the open door, and it struck him at once that the man must be suffering from toothache. And then his cousin caught him by the arm and drew him back.
"Here, man, the carriage next door is empty!" cried he, and the superintendent closed the door and followed him.