"Oh, is that you, Geordie?" she
asked, recognizing him in the darkness. "My father said when he went oot
that if ye cam' to the door, I was to tell ye he had nae places yet."
"That's a' richt," said Geordie, still very quietly. "Do ye ken onything
aboot where he is this nicht?"
"No, unless he's up in Sanny Robertson's, or maybe in Peter Fleming's."
"Thank ye," said Geordie, turning away, "I'll go up an' see if he is
there."
He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and had stopped on an
extra shift to repair a road, by special instructions from Walker; so
Geordie went direct to Fleming's house and knocked at the door. After an
interval a woman's voice enquired, "Wha's that?" and Geordie thought
there was anxiety in it.
"Open the door," said Geordie quietly. "What the hell are ye afert for?"
and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work,
immediately opened the door.
"You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing who the
intruder was, she tried to shut the door.
"Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want to see Black
Jock."
"He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her
voice.
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