Fairford now found himself called upon to say something; yet his feelings, upon finding himself thus completely in the power of a canting hypocrite, and of his retainer, who had so much the air of a determined ruffian, joined to the strong and abominable fume which they snuffed up with indifference, while it almost deprived him of respiration, combined to render utterance difficult. He stated, however, that he had no evil intentions towards the laird, as they called him, but was only the bearer of a letter to him on particular business, from Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees.
‘Aye, aye,’ said Job, ‘that may be well enough; and if Mr. Trumbull is satisfied that the service is right, why, we will give you a cast in the JUMPING JENNY this tide, and Nanty Ewart will put you on a way of finding the laird, I warrant you.’
‘I may for the present return, I presume, to the inn where I left my horse?’ said Fairford.
‘With pardon,’ replied Mr. Trumbull, ‘you have been ower far ben with us for that; but Job will take you to a place where you may sleep rough till he calls you. I will bring you what little baggage you can need—for those who go on such errands must not be dainty. I will myself see after your horse, for a merciful man is merciful to his beast—a matter too often forgotten in our way of business.’
‘Why, Master Trumbull,’ replied Job, ‘you know that when we are chased, it’s no time to shorten sail, and so the boys do ride whip and spur.’ He stopped in his speech, observing the old man had vanished through the door by which he had entered—‘That’s always the way with old Turnpenny,’ he said to Fairford; ‘he cares for nothing of the trade but the profit—now, d—me, if I don’t think the fun of it is better worth while. But come along, my fine chap; I must stow you away in safety until it is time to go aboard.’
CHAPTER XIII
NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED
Fairford followed his gruff guide among a labyrinth of barrels and puncheons, on which he had more than once like to have broken his nose, and from thence into what, by the glimpse of the passing lantern upon a desk and writing materials, seemed to be a small office for the dispatch of business. Here there appeared no exit; but the smuggler, or smuggler’s ally, availing himself of a ladder, removed an old picture, which showed a door about seven feet from the ground, and Fairford, still following Job, was involved in another tortuous and dark passage, which involuntarily reminded him of Peter Peebles’s lawsuit. At the end of this labyrinth, when he had little guess where he had been conducted, and was, according to the French phrase, totally DESORIENTE, Job suddenly set down the lantern, and availing himself of the flame to light two candles which stood on the table, asked if Alan would choose anything to eat, recommending, at all events, a slug of brandy to keep out the night air. Fairford declined both, but inquired after his baggage.
‘The old master will take care of that himself,’ said Job Rutledge; and drawing back in the direction in which he had entered, he vanished from the farther end of the apartment, by a mode which the candles, still shedding an imperfect light, gave Alan no means of ascertaining. Thus the adventurous young lawyer was left alone in the apartment to which he had been conducted by so singular a passage.