“Not so,” replied Murdoch; “every promise shall be kept to you when I am assured you have told me the truth.—But I must speak a few words with your companion in captivity.”
“Fair and false—ever fair and false,” muttered the prisoner, as he threw himself once more on the floor of his dungeon.
Meanwhile, Captain Dalgetty, who had attended to every word of this dialogue, was making his own remarks on it in private. “What the HENKER can this sly fellow have to say to me? I have no child, either of my own, so far as I know, or of any other person, to tell him a tale about. But let him come on—he will have some manoeuvring ere he turn the flank of the old soldier.”
Accordingly, as if he had stood pike in hand to defend a breach, he waited with caution, but without fear, the commencement of the attack.
“You are a citizen of the world, Captain Dalgetty,” said Murdoch Campbell, “and cannot be ignorant of our old Scotch proverb, GIF-GAF, [In old English, KA ME KA THEE, i.e. mutually serving each other.] which goes through all nations and all services.”
“Then I should know something of it,” said Dalgetty; “for, except the Turks, there are few powers in Europe whom I have not served; and I have sometimes thought of taking a turn either with Bethlem Gabor, or with the Janizaries.”
“A man of your experience and unprejudiced ideas, then, will understand me at once,” said Murdoch, “when I say, I mean that your freedom shall depend on your true and up right answer to a few trifling questions respecting the gentlemen you have left; their state of preparation; the number of their men, and nature of their appointments; and as much as you chance to know about their plan of operations.”
“Just to satisfy your curiosity,” said Dalgetty, “and without any farther purpose?”
“None in the world,” replied Murdoch; “what interest should a poor devil like me take in their operations?”
“Make your interrogations, then,” said the Captain, “and I will answer them PREREMTORIE.”