‘What affair is it of his?’
‘That you’ll not learn from me,’ responded his father: ‘not yet, at least. If it’s ever necessary you should know, I’ll tell you. Meanwhile, keep a still tongue and an open eye. It’s to the shebeen he’s going—we’ll follow him.’
They were close behind Blake’s heels by the time he had reached the door of the alehouse. He lurched round and faced them.
‘The divil and his imp,’ he remarked, as a polite salutation, and stumbled across the threshold with no further greeting than a drunken laugh.
Peebles was in the kitchen, finishing a drink of whisky, and chatting with the widow.
‘Hullo! my king o’ Scots,’ hiccuped Blake. ‘You here? Drinkin’, too! Ye’ve taken to decent habits in your old age. Here! you’ll have another drink with me.’
‘Indeed but I’ll no’,’ replied the sententious old Scot.
‘You won’t! You won’t drink?’
‘Yes, with my friends,’ returned Peebles; ‘but I see none o’ them here.’
He set his glass upon the table, nodded to the widow, and went out to keep his already recorded interview with Moya in the churchyard.