"Man," he said, "ye couldna ha'e come at a better time. I'm fair graivelled by this passage in Horace. Can ye gie me the sense o't?"
"To perdition with Horace," I shouted. "Mary's in the Tolbooth of Dumfries and I want your help."
The book fell spinning from his hand and lay face down on the floor.
"In the Tolbooth o' Dumfries!" he exclaimed. "Wha tellt ye that?"
"I saw her enter less than an hour ago with my own eyes," I said.
Hector stooped, and, before replying, picked up his book. "In the Tolbooth o' Dumfries," he said slowly. "Guid sakes! I thocht the lassie was deid. Ye're sure it's her?"
"As sure," I answered, "as I am that I am speaking to you."
"Weel," he replied, "if that's so Horace maun juist bide a wee. This is a maitter that wants considerin'. Come awa' to my room," and he led the way to the chamber in which, close on a year ago, I myself had slept.
CHAPTER XLII
IN THE TOLBOOTH OF DUMFRIES