“I will carry it wi’ the greatest o’ pleasure, madam,” answered Geordie.
The woman handed him the letter, with some more money, and departed.
Geordie got the letter speedily read to him by a person in his confidence. It was in these terms:—
“Mon cher Ludovic,—Jessie Varriston lives vit de idiot, Geordie Villison, in Leit Vynd. De bearer of dis knows her very vell, and vill assist you in de abduction. My Lady Maitland and I both tink we know her too; bot we do not vish at present to let any von know dis, for certain reasons, vich we cannot explain to you. Ven you arrange vit de bearer to carry her off, let me know, and I vill do every ting in my power to assist you, as my lady has a grand vish for de abduction of de vench vithout procrastination. My lady does not know of my having given you intelligence of her being up to de affair.—Yours till death.
“Louise Grecourt.”
From this letter, Geordie saw plainly that Lady Maitland and Louise had, at last, got some information regarding Jessie, which had led them to suspect that she was the child they had supposed to be dead. It was clear, however, that Brodie knew nothing of their suspicions, and the two parties were, undoubtedly, after the same game, with different objects and for different reasons. Having folded the letter and sealed it, so as to avoid suspicion, Geordie went out and delivered it into the hands of Birkiehaugh.
Brodie, having read the letter, examined Geordie from head to heel—“Canst thou be trusted, man, in an affair requiring secrecy and ability to execute it?” asked he.
“Do you see ony thing aboot me to produce ony doubt o’ my ability or my secrecy?” answered Geordie. “Nae man will coup wi’ Peter Finlayson in ony expedition whar death, danger, or exposure are to be avoided, or whar ability to plan, an’ quickness to execute, and cunnin’ to conceal, are things o’ consideration or importance.”
“Well, Peter, I believe thou art the man. I wish to carry off the girl, Jessie Warriston, to-morrow night—canst thou assist me in that enterprise?”
“It’s just in the like o’ thae bits o’ ploys that the genius o’ Peter Finlayson lies,” answered Geordie. “I ken the lassie maist intimately, and can bring her to ony appointed spot at ony hour ye please to name.”
“To-morrow night, then,” said Brodie, “at eight o’clock, at the resting-stone at the top of the Leith Lone; knowest thou the place?”