Chapter 9

_To these_, _C_, BRODIE and LAWSON (greatcoat, muffler, lantern).

LAWSON (_from the door_). Come your ways, Mistress Watt.

JEAN. That’s the Fiscal himsel’.

HUNT. Mr. Procurator-Fiscal, I believe?

LAWSON. That’s me. Who’ll you be?

HUNT. Hunt the Runner, sir; Hunt from Bow Street; English warrant.

LAWSON. There’s a place for a’ things, officer. Come your ways to my office, with me and this guid wife.

BRODIE (_aside to_ JEAN, _as she passes with a curtsey_). How dare you be here? (_Aloud to_ SMITH.) Wait you here, my man.

SMITH. If you please, sir. (BRODIE _goes out_, _C._)