Mr Piddle said He-he! he was dreadfully sorry. Yes, he’d been in the court and seen young Mr Tavendale, and yes, he’d written the story for the Daily Runner. No, he hadn’t intended to offend anyone, but the public must have its news, Mrs Colquohoun. Could she give him a photo for the Tory Pictman? And wasn’t it the case that her husband, the late minister of Segget, had also held—He-he!—rather extremist opinions?

Jim Trease said plain that of course the Communists would exploit the case to the full—for their own ends first, not for Ewan’s. They’d do all they could for him, but Ewan was nothing to them, just as he, Jim Trease, was nothing.

Miss Murgatroyd said Eh me, it was Awful, and young Mr Ewan Such Fine to get on with, right interested in the books on old Scottish magic that she’d loaned him—they were Awful Powerful in magic, the Picts. However had he got in such company?—It was said he’d assaulted the police Just Awful and them so kind and obliging, Too. Ask some of her friends at the Unionist Club to interfere?—oh, she couldn’t do that she was feared, it wouldn’t be right, now, would it? And they all terrible against the Reds, not that Mr Tavendale was really one, she knew, but there you were, oh, she was terribly sorry—

Archie Clearmont said Hell, was that Ewan? Didn’t know he was Red. So was Wagner. Anything whatever I can do to help—

John Cushnie said nothing but handed in his notice, he couldn’t very well stay on any longer, and him an employé of Raggie Robertson’s, you ken—

Ellen Johns said, white, Anything you want. I’m a Socialist, too, and I started him on it—he’s a Socialist, not a Red, it’s all a ghastly mistake. Oh, Chris, how did he really look? … Oh, Chris, I’m sorry, I’m a fool to cry, he’d think me a fool—

Ake Ogilvie said to Chris not to fret. He thought he could maybe fix up this business.

*

He went off to his work and bade off the whole day while Chris went about with a mind gone numb, dead brain in her head, scrubbing and cooking and serving the meals, helped by the new maid, a big widow woman who was kind as she could be and never spoke a word about Εwan or the case. The blink of March daylight closed into dark and still Chris worked in a numbing fear; then at last, as it drew to tea-time, she heard the front door open and Ake on the stairs, his slow, independent clump on the stairs. A wee while later he came down again and opened the door: Ay, mistress, a word with you.

He sat in the sitting-room, filling his pipe: Well, you’re looking on an unemployed man.

Chris said What? and Ake nodded and struck a match, and took a bit puff, and said Right on the Broo, Jimmy’d finished with him and he with Jimmy. But that was neither here nor there at the moment. The main thing was that Ewan would be safe—or else Jimmy’s bit secret would be all over Duncairn as fast as Ewan’s Red friends and Ake could spread it abroad. Ay, a great thing, scandal.