Chapter 52

_After a pause_, BRODIE, _through the window_

BRODIE. Saved! And the alibi! Man, but you’ve been near it this time—near the rope, near the rope. Ah boy, it was your neck, your neck you fought for. They were closing hell-doors upon me, swift as the wind, when I slipped through and shot for heaven! Saved! The dog that sold me, I settled him; and the other dogs are staunch. Man, but your alibi will stand! Is the window fast? The neighbours must not see the Deacon, the poor, sick Deacon, up and stirring at this time o’ night. Ay, the good old room in the good, cozy old house . . . and the rat a dead rat, and all saved. (_He lights the candles_.) Your hand shakes, sir? Fie! And you saved, and you snug and sick in your bed, and it but a dead rat after all? (_He takes off his hanger and lays it on the table_.) Ay, it was a near touch. Will it come to the dock? If it does! You’ve a tongue, and you’ve a head, and you’ve an alibi; and your alibi will stand. (_He takes off his coat_, _takes out the dagger_, _and with a gesture of striking_) Home! He fell without a sob. ‘He breaketh them against the bosses of his buckler!’ (_Lays the dagger on the table_.) Your alibi . . . ah Deacon, that’s your life! . . . your alibi, your alibi. (_He takes up a candle and turns towards the door_.) O! . . . Open, open, open! judgment of God, the door is open!