He paused over his answer, looking up at my face through the darkness.
“I’d astonish you if I told you,” he at last replied, in a somewhat altered tone.
“Indeed!” I answered, apparently with great indifference, but really trembling with eager curiosity.
“Yes, I am really a clergyman, but reduced to this state by my own folly.”
At last I had him! There he was sitting close by me in the dark, betrayed by his own pet phrase, so truthful, and yet so often used to deceive. I could have shouted with exultation, but I was too anxious to see him safe under lock and key. Plenty of time for crowing when I had him in the cells.
I gave a dissatisfied grunt and a dry “Imphum,” and remained silent for some time. During that interval a bright thought flashed upon me, and at the first cross road I purposely turned the horse off the main road, and went on till we were stopped by a farm.
I had gig lamps, and these I got lighted, and then I mounted and turned back till we reached the main road, which I boldly turned into—in the direction leading back to Edinburgh.
“Are you sure you’re not going the wrong way?” said my companion, after a little.
“I am going my way—this is my road,” I replied, with some gruffness; “I can’t say anything about yours. I think you said you weren’t particular?”
“All right—neither I am,” he said, evidently not relishing the thought of being turned out on the dark road in such a rain. “Just drive on, please, and never mind me.”