"Nay, nowt but in low feckle someways, and maybe summat different dressed."
"How different? What did he wear that night?"
Pale as Hugh Ritson's face had been before, it was now white as a face in moonlight.
"Maybe a pepper and salt tweed coat, but I can't rightly call to mind at the minute."
Hugh's great eyes stared out of his head. His tongue cleaved to his mouth, and for the moment denied him speech.
"Thank you, Mistress Calvert. Here, Willie, my man, drink my health with the missis."
So saying, he tossed a silver coin to the innkeeper, wheeled about, and rode off.
"I can not mak' nowther head nor tail o' this," said the old man.
"Of what—the brass?" said Janet.
"Nay, but that's soond enough, for sure, auld lass."