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Robert Bruce heard his question, and, regarding him keenly from under his eyebrows, debated with himself whether the applicant was respectable�-that is, whether he could pay, and would bring upon the house no discredit by the harbourage. The signs of such a man as Cupples were inscrutable to Bruce; therefore his answer hung fire.
Leaving Mr Cupples to eat the supper alone, our hero and his friend went out in hot haste, and soon found themselves in the presence of the captain of the Roving Bess, which was to sail next day. "By the way," whispered Will to his friend, as they were entering the room in which the skipper sat, "do you happen to have any cash? for I have only twenty pounds." "Not a rap," whispered the captain.
"I shot Manderson myself." "I am afraid I startled you," Trent heard the voice of Mr. Cupples say. He forced himself out of his stupefaction like a diver striking upward for the surface, and with a rigid movement raised his glass. But half of the wine splashed upon the cloth, and he put it carefully down again untasted. He drew a deep breath, which was exhaled in a laugh wholly without merriment.
"I doobt, Mr Cupples, ye haena come unner the pooer o' grace yet." Na, thank ye. I dinna want to come unner a pour o' creysh. It wad blaud me a'thegither. Is that the gait ye baptize i' your conventicle?" "There's nane sae deif's them 'at winna hear, Mr Cupples," said Bruce. "I mean�-ye're no convertit yet." "Na. I'm no convertit. 'Deed no. I wadna like to be convertit.
He tilted some of the powder out upon one surface of the paper, then, turning it over, upon the other; then shook the leaf gently to rid it of the loose powder. He held it out to Mr Cupples in silence. On one side of the paper appeared unmistakably, clearly printed in black, the same two finger-prints that he had already seen on the bowl and on the photographic plate.
Alec burst into a loud roar of laughter. For there was the little man standing in his shirt, shaking a trembling fist at him, stammering with eagerness, and half-choked with excitement. "Gang to yer bed, Mr Cupples, or ye'll tak' yer deith o' cauld. Luik here." And Alec seized the bottle once more.
Pit on the kettle first. It's an ac' o' the purest disinteresstitness, for deil a drap sall ye drink! But I'll sing ye a sang, by way o' upmak'." "I never heard ye sing, Mr Cupples. Ye can do a' thing, I think."
Mr Cupples came to see them every summer, and generally remained over the harvest. He never married. But he wrote a good book. Thomas Crann and he had many long disputes, and did each other good. Thomas grew gentler as he grew older. And he learned to hope more for other people. And then he hoped more for himself too.
"I don't like to shed human blood," said Captain Dall, interrupting, "where I've no quarrel." "Then your own must be shed," said Bukawanga firmly. "There's no help for it, captain," said Will Osten. "'Tis better to fight for these men than to be murdered by them. What say you, Mr Cupples?" "War," replied the mate emphatically. "Ditto," said Muggins, nodding his head and buttoning his jacket.
As for attempts being made by malevolent persons to fix crimes upon innocent men, of course it is constantly happening." Mr. Cupples mused a few moments. "We know," he said, "from the things Mabel and Mr. Bunner told you what may be termed the spiritual truth underlying this matter: the insane depth of jealous hatred which Manderson concealed.
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