“Will you have a glass of champagne, Pate?”
“Oh, ay, sir,” he said, not very eagerly.
“Would you rather have a glass of whisky?”
“Well, sir,” Pate said, in accents that showed that his Highland pronunciation had been corrupted by many years’ residence in Greenock, “I was thinkin’ the whisky was a wee thing better for ye on a cauld nicht.”
“Here you are, then! Now, tell me, do you know Loch Roag?”
“Oh, ay, fine. Many’s the time I hiv been in to Borvapost.”
“But,” said Lavender, “do you know the loch itself? Do you know the bay on which Mackenzie’s house stands?”
“Weel, I’m no’ sae sure aboot that, sir. But if ye want to gang there, we can pick up some bit body at Borvapost that will tak’ us around.”
“Well,” Lavender said, “I think I can tell you how to go. I know the channel is quite simple—there are no rocks about—and once you are round the point you will see your anchorage.”
“It’s twa or three years since I was there, sir,” Pate remarked, as he put the glass back on the table. “I mind there was a daft auld man there that played the pipes.”