It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely lined in red.
M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at David's broad back.
"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin voice, reaching forward in his chair.
"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el obleege me by the truth for once."
David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with blanching face.
"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his eyes never moved off his son's face.
"I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the paper in his hand.
"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep to the Killer last night."
"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each noticed the others' face--dead-white.
"Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each.
The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that nothing could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled from his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before a thunderstorm.
"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night."
"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red Wull--the Terror--"
The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to the bottle that stood before him.
"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his shoulder.
Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond, its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick and blazed into flame.