“I have his Grace's instructions to ask you about the advisability of arresting a stranger, seemingly a Frenchman, who is at this moment suspiciously prowling about the policies.”
“On whatna charge, Mr. MacTaggart, on whatna charge?” asked the writer, taking a confident, even an insolent, tone, now that he was on his own familiar ground. “Rape, arson, forgery, robbery, thigging, sorning, pickery, murder, or high treason?”
“Clap them all together, Mr. Petullo, and just call it local inconduciveness,” cried MacTaggart. “Simply the Duke may not care for his society. That should be enough for the Fiscal and Long Davie the dempster, shouldn't it?”
“H'm!” said Petullo. “It's a bit vague, Mr. MacTaggart, and I don't think it's mentioned in Forbes's 'Institutes.' Fifteen Campbell assessors and the baron bailie might have sent a man to the Plantations on that dittay ten years ago, but we live in different times, Mr. MacTaggart—different times, Mr. MacTaggart,” repeated the writer, tee-heeing till his bent shoulders heaved under his seedy, ink-stained surtout coat.
“Do we?” cried the Chamberlain, with a laugh. “I'm thinking ye forget a small case we had no further gone than yesterday, when a man with the unlucky name of Stewart—” He stopped, meaningly smiled, and made a gesture with his fingers across his neck, at the same time giving an odd sound with his throat.
“Oh! You're an awfu' man,” cried Petullo, with the accent of a lout. “I wonder if you're on the same track as myself, for I'm like the Hielan' soldier—I have a Frenchman of my own. There's one, I mean, up by there in Doom, and coming down here to-morrow or the day after, or as soon as I can order a lodging for him in the town.”
“Oh, hell!” cried the secretary, amazingly dumfoundered.
“There's nothing underhand about him, so far as I know, to give even his Grace an excuse for confining him, for it seems he's a wine merchant out of Bordeaux, one Montaiglon, come here on business, and stopped at Doom through an attack on his horse by the same Macfarlanes who are of interest to us for another reason, as was spoken of at his Grace's table last night.”
“And he's coming here?” asked MacTaggart, incredulous.
“I had a call from the Baron himself to-day to tell me that.”