I had dinner with my uncle in the Candleriggs, and sat with him late afterwards casting up accounts, so it was not till nine o’clock that I set out on my way to my lodgings.  These were in the Saltmarket, close on the river front, and to reach them I went by the short road through the Friar’s Vennel.  It was an ill-reputed quarter of the town, and not long before had been noted as a haunt of coiners; but I had gone through it often, and met with no hindrance.

In the vennel stood a tall dark bit of masonry called Gilmour’s Lordship, which was pierced by long closes from which twisting stairways led to the upper landings.  I was noting its gloomy aspect under the dim February moon, when a man came towards me and turned into one of the closes.  He swung along with a free, careless gait that marked him as no townsman, and ere he plunged into the darkness I had a glimpse of fiery hair.  It was the stranger who had accosted me in Parlane’s alley, and he was either drunk or in wild spirits, for he was singing:—­

     “We’re a’ dry wi’ the drinkin’ o’t,
      We’re a’ dry wi’ the drinkin’ o’t. 
      The minister kissed the fiddler’s wife,
      And he couldna preach for thinkin’ o’t.”

The ribald chorus echoed from the close mouth.

Then I saw that he was followed by three others, bent, slinking fellows, who slipped across the patches of moonlight, and eagerly scanned the empty vennel.  They could not see me, for I was in shadow, and presently they too entered the close.

The thing looked ugly, and, while I had no love for the red-haired man, I did not wish to see murder or robbery committed and stand idly by.  The match of the afternoon had given me a fine notion of my prowess, though.  Had I reflected, my pistol was in its case at home, and I had no weapon but a hazel staff.  Happily in youth the blood is quicker than the brain, and without a thought I ran into the close and up the long stairway.

The chorus was still being sung ahead of me, and then it suddenly ceased.  In dead silence and in pitchy darkness I struggled up the stone steps, wondering what I should find at the next turning.  The place was black as night, the steps were uneven, and the stairs corkscrewed most wonderfully.  I wished with all my heart that I had not come, as I groped upwards hugging the wall.

Then a cry came and a noise of hard breathing.  At the same moment a door opened somewhere above my head, and a faint glow came down the stairs.  Presently with a great rumble a heavy man came rolling past me, butting with his head at the stair-side.  He came to anchor on a landing below me, and finding his feet plunged downwards as if the devil were at his heels.  He left behind him a short Highland knife, which I picked up and put in my pocket.

On his heels came another with his hand clapped to his side, and he moaned as he slithered past me.  Something dripped from him on the stone steps.