The blood rose in her face; she came close up and pressed upon me, holding my hand: and it was so that we awaited Alan.
He came with one of his queer smiles. “What was I telling ye, David?” says he.
“There is a time for all things, Alan,” said I, “and this time is serious. How have you sped? You can speak out plain before this friend of ours.”
“I have been upon a fool’s errand,” said he.
“I doubt we have done better than you, then,” said I; “and, at least, here is a great deal of matter that you must judge of. Do you see that?” I went on, pointing to the ship. “That is the Seahorse, Captain Palliser.”
“I should ken her, too,” says Alan. “I had fyke enough with her when she was stationed in the Forth. But what ails the man to come so close?”
“I will tell you why he came there first,” said I. “It was to bring this letter to James More. Why he stops here now that it’s delivered, what it’s likely to be about, why there’s an officer hiding in the bents, and whether or not it’s probable that he’s alone—I would rather you considered for yourself.”
“A letter to James More?” said he.
“The same,” said I.
“Well, and I can tell ye more than that,” said Alan. “For last night, when you were fast asleep, I heard the man colloguing with some one in the French, and then the door of that inn to be opened and shut.”