"Yes, I do, sir; that is if you have no other natives with the same outlandish name. He's on board, I assure you. Ay, and here he is."
The officer turned round towards me where I stood with my lantern in one hand, and the coil of rope over my shoulder.
Bailie Duke looked at me with a frown on his brow, and his eyes were steadily fixed upon my face, which could only have reflected the innocence of my heart.
"I cannot believe it," he said in an undertone; "and yet the thing's so clear."
Then he laid a hand sternly on my shoulder, and said, "Ericson, my lad, I'm really sorry; but, you see, there's no use evadin' the hand o' the law, and I must make you my prisoner."
"Your prisoner, Mr. Duke! But you cannot think that I have anything to do with the smuggling?"
"Smuggling!" said he. "I said nothing about smuggling. With that I have no business. No, it's not the smuggling, it's the murder!"
"Murder! What murder?" I gasped.
"The murder of Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar," he said.
Colin Lothian murdered! I was stunned and perplexed by these terrible words. But, without further explanation, Mr. Duke gave orders to some men in the boat he had come out by to make a prisoner of me. Two men came aboard and bound my arms about me with my own rope, and conducted me into the boat, while the bailie got down into the stern, where he sat ruminating as we were rowed towards the landing pier.