“Kinlay,” said Mr. Duke, touching the coil of rope, “did you at any time make use of these lines to climb down the Gaulton cliffs?”

Tom was silent.

“If you do not care to tell us that, then, perhaps, you will say if you happened to make use of this gun on the night on which Colin Lothian met his death?”

Tom became perceptibly confused.

“Mr. Duke,” exclaimed Bailie Thomson, “what in the world are you driving at?”

“I’m driving at the truth, Mr. Thomson,” said Bailie Duke calmly, “and I think I see it.  In the first place, you will observe, sir, that no motive whatever has been found which would induce Halcro Ericson to raise his hand against poor Colin Lothian.  Now, on the contrary—­and I can prove this by witnesses if you wish—­it is certain that Kinlay had a quarrel with Lothian on the very day of the murder.  Lieutenant Fox, who was witness of that quarrel, will be able to tell the reason of it.  The reason was simply this—­nothing else but this, Mr. Thomson—­that it was Colin who let it out about the smuggling.  It was what Lothian said in Oliver Gray’s inn that morning which led the officer to believe that Carver Kinlay kept a store of illicit whisky in the Gaulton Cave.  Is that so, Mr. Fox?”

“It is quite true,” said the officer.

“Now, it is useless to examine more witnesses in proof of what I say.  All that may be considered in detail when the case comes before the procurator fiscal.  But Mr. Drever has found one witness whose evidence is of the greatest importance, and I will have that witness called.

“Macfarlane, bring in Thora Kinlay.

“Ericson, my lad, sit down here with Mr. Drever.”

Stepping towards the schoolmaster I faced the door through which Macfarlane had disappeared, giving a pat of recognition to Colin Lothian’s dog as I passed it.  And now that door was reopened, and my dear school friend Thora came in.

It was the first time I had seen her since her illness.  She seemed taller and more stately, and I mutely marvelled at the delicate beauty of her fair face and at the brightness of her deep-blue eyes.

Our eyes met, and we simply pronounced each other’s name.

“Halcro!” said she; “Thora!” said I.

And then Colin Lothian’s dog sprang about her skirts in joyful greeting, and followed her to the middle of the room.

Bailie Duke, after a consultation with Mr. Drever, called Thora to the table and administered the oath.  She pronounced the words with grave solemnity.

“I understand, Thora,” said Mr. Duke, “that you know something concerning the death of Colin Lothian?”

“Yes,” said Thora.  “I know all about it, Mr. Duke.”

“What!  You can tell how it happened?  You know who committed the deed?”

Lothian’s dog here licked her hand.  She sent it away, and it wandered about the room until it came to Tom Kinlay.