When they had risen from the table and the sailor had settled himself in an armchair, Gilbert summoned Macquean.
‘What does young Stirk want with me?’ he inquired.
Macquean cast a circular look into space, as though his master’s voice had come from some unexpected quarter.
‘It’s poachers,’ he said apologetically.
‘What?’ shouted Somerville.
‘Just poachers.’
‘But where? What do you mean?’ cried Gilbert.
‘It’s poachers,’ said Macquean again. ‘Stirk’s come for you.’
‘Where are they?’
‘They’re awa west to net the doo’cot o’ Morphie; but they’ll likely be done by now,’ added Macquean.