“I do not, my lord,” said Mac, touching his head, “understand your meaning.”
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you? If then I say you are deeply steeped in crime, that you are a murderer, a thief, a rogue, and a villain, should I not speak the truth, and would you not understand my charge?”
“Saying so, and proving its truth, are, I ken, two very different things, my lord. You can’t prove that I am otherwise than an innocent man.”
“Don’t you be too sure of that, Mac. Indeed, I already possess evidence, which, if necessary, can at any moment be produced, completely substantiating my charge; and, Mac, I have a great mind to produce that evidence to the authorities.”
“You dare not do that, my lord,” replied Mac.
“You scoundrel! dare you threaten me in my own castle? If you say another word, and use that language to me, I’ll send for the bum-bailiff at once, and, as a magistrate, order you into his custody.”
“I say again, my lord, that you daren’t carry out your threat.”
“Why daren’t I, I should be glad to know?”
“Because if you were to do so I’d peach.”
“You would do what, Mac?”