roof as I could
wish. It would be straining a point to arrest him as it stands. I'd do
it though--_for you_. Get him to talk, and don't hurry him; he's safe to
commit himself; and we'll nail him at the first word. My comrade says he
has not left his bed since yesterday. Perhaps he's ill. All the better.
We can frighten him if we get his man out of the way."

Guy's hand was on the bell before the last words were said, and he rang
it sharply. The two officers drew back into the shadow.

In a few moments an old man opened the door, whom we guessed to be
Bruce's attendant. He had one of those stubborn, rough-hewn faces that
even white hair can not soften any more than hoar-frost can the outline
of a granite crag.

"What's ye're wull?" he drawled out, in the rugged Aberdeen Doric.

"I wish to see Mr. Bruce."

"No sic a pairson here," was the reply, accompanied by a vigorous effort
to close the door.

A heavy groan, proceeding from a room on the ground floor, gave him the
lie as he spoke. Guy threw up his head like a hound breaking from scent
to view, and thrust Macbane back violently. The old man staggered and
fell; but he clung round Livingstone's knees, as he groveled, till he
was actually trampled down. There was a difficulty in the lock
somewhere; but bolt and staple were torn away in an instant by the
furious hand that grasped the handle, and so at last we stood in the
presence of the man we had sought so long.

Do you remember that hideous picture in Hogarth's "Two Apprentices,"
where the sleeping robber is alarmed by the crash in the chimney? That
was exactly Bruce's attitude. He had started into a sitting posture, and
was braced up on his hands, his face thrust forward, half covered by the
straight unkempt hair. What a face it was! White and flecked with
sweat-drops, marbled here and there with livid stains, the lips
quivering and working till they twisted themselves sometimes into a
ghastly mockery of a smile, the long teeth gleaming more wolfish than
ever. The iris of the prominent eyes had grown yellowish, and the whites
were bloodshot, so that the light seemed to flash from them _tawnily_.

Bruce had always been very much afraid of Livingstone. His terror had
gone on increasing during months of relentless pursuit; it had reached
its climax now. Guy stood at the foot of the bed, contemplating the
unhappy wretch with a cruel calmness that seemed to drive him wild. He
writhed and cowered under the fixed gaz