I heard Macfarlane speaking with some one.

“Ye’ll find him in here, captain; but dinna stay ower long wi’ him; for, ye ken, I’m breakin’ the rule in letting ye see the lad.”

“All right, Jimmy!” said a voice that I at once recognized as that of Captain Flett.

“Well, Ericson, my lad,” he said, entering the cell and offering me his hand.  “They’ve not put the hangman’s rope round your neck yet, I see.”

Then he added in a more serious tone, “Come, I canna stay with you long.  Let us talk the affair over, and see what’s to be done.”

“First of all then,” I said, “I want to know what it’s all about.  Why have they put me in here?”

“What! have they not told you the particulars?”

“No; I know nothing but that old Colin Lothian has been murdered.”

“And ye dinna ken who it was that murdered him?  Tell me the truth now.”

“I know nothing at all about it,” I said.

“Well, then, I’ll just tell you all that I know myself, Ericson.”

And sitting down beside me on an old box that was in the cell, the skipper proceeded with his account of the affair, of which the following is the substance.

On the afternoon following that of the beginning of the snowstorm, Captain Flett waited for me on the schooner, for he wanted to set sail again.  Every now and then he went up the companion ladder to look out for me towards the snow-covered town.  While thus engaged he heard the boatswain’s whistle sounded on board the revenue cutter, then lying in the outer bay, and he was admiring the alertness of the blue jackets as they got the cutter ready for sailing, when a small boat that he had not noticed came alongside of the Falcon, and Bailie Duke accosted him.

“Captain Flett,” said the bailie excitedly, “I want the lad Ericson; where is he?”

“’Deed I can’t tell you that, your honour,” replied Flett.  “I have been waiting for him here mysel’ all the day.”

“Just as I expected,” said the bailie, with evident annoyance; “the young rascal has escaped.  When did you last see him, captain?”

“I saw him yestreen, sir.  But was it anything of importance you’re wanting the lad for?”

“Anything of importance!  Ay, is it of importance!  For, know you this, Captain Flett, the lad’s nothing but a murderer, a murderer in cold blood!”

“Impossible!” ejaculated the skipper.  “When heard you of the lad harming body or beast?  But who is it that’s murdered, bailie?”

“Colin Lothian, the gaberlunzie,” replied the magistrate.

“Man, you astonish me,” exclaimed Flett.  “Poor auld Lothian!  And when did the thing happen?”