that dreary, soaking night into such a locality.

The two men talked for some time in a low and earnest voice, and then
the old man, opening a greasy leather satchel, displayed a quantity of
paper which he had bought. James looked it over with a keen and
practised eye. Suddenly his attitude and expression changed; he read
over and over one piece of paper, and every time he read it he looked
at it more critically and with a greater satisfaction.

"Andrew Starkie," he said, "where did you buy this?"

"Weel, James, I bought it o' Laidlaw--Aleck Laidlaw. Ye wadna think a
big tailoring place like that could hae the wind in their faces; but
folks maun hae their bad weather days, ye ken; but it blew me gude, so
I'll ne'er complain. Ye see it is for L89, due in twenty days now, and
I only gied L79 for it--a good name too, nane better."

"David Cameron! But what would he be owing Laidlaw L89 for clothes
for?"

"Tut, tut! The claithes were for his nephew. There was some trouble
anent the bill, but the old man gied a note for the amount at last, at
three months. It's due in twenty days now. As he banks wi' your firm,
ye may collect it for me; it will be an easy-made penny or twa."

"I would like to buy this note. What will you sell it for?"

"I'm no minded to sell it. What for do ye want it?"

"Nothing particular. I'll give you L90 for it."

"If it's worth that to you, it is worth mair. I'm no minded to tak
L90."

"I'll give you L95."

"I'm no minded to tak it. It's worth mair to you, I see that. What are
you going to mak by it? I'll sell it for half o' what you are counting
on." "Then you would not make a bawbee. I am going to ware L95 on--on
a bit of revenge. Now will you go shares?"

"Not I. Revenge in cold blood is the deil's own act. I dinna wark wi'
the deil, when it's a losing job to me."

"Will you take L95 then?"

"No. When lads want whistles they maun pay for them."

"I'll give no more. For why? Because in twenty days you will do my
work for me; then it will cost me nothing, and it will cost you L89,
that is all about it, Starkie."

Starkie lifted the note which James had flung carelessly down, and his
skinny hands trembled as he fingered it. "This is David Cameron's note
o' hand, and David Cameron is a gude name."

"Yes, very good. Only that is not David Cameron's writing, it is
a--forgery. Light your pipe with it, Andrew Starkie."

"His nephew gave it himsel' to Aleck Laidlaw--"

"I know. And I