'Alexander,' he taunted. 'Here's a man who would like to hear your story!' Alexander turned, a long, horsy face, bulbous blue eyes and wet slack mouth beneath a shock of black hair. 'I'm at dice!' he grumbled and glared angrily at Corbett. 'I know,' the English clerk sweetly replied, 'but,' and he jingled the coins in his purse. 'I can make up your undoubted losses!' Alexander was too far gone in his cups to detect the sarcasm but he looked at Corbett, licked his lips greedily and, snatching up a brimming cup, lurched to his feet and gestured Corbett to follow him to the far end of the room. The captain of the guard nodded at Corbett to follow and promptly occupied the gambler's vacant seat. 'Oh,' he shouted after Corbett. 'When he's finished his tale, just bed down here in the hall. I will bring you a cloak, it is not much, but warmer and more comfortable than a night on the cliff tops!' Corbett nodded, smiled his thanks and went over to where Alexander now slouched in a half-drunken stupor.

Corbett introduced himself, giving the same reason for his curiosity as he had earlier. Alexander was too drunk to care and Corbett had to listen carefully to understand the man's drunken, slurred speech. Like himself, Alexander was a clerk who served the King, even following him to England when the late Scottish King had gone south to attend the coronation of Edward I. Corbett let him ramble on while the gambling group broke up amidst loud shouts and farewells, and a harassed servant brought Corbett a cloak. Then the English clerk gently asked the befuddled Alexander his questions, though he learnt nothing new. On the day the King died, just before dusk, an unknown messenger had delivered a letter at the gate. This was taken direct to Queen Yolande who had summoned Alexander and told him to take the King's favourite horse, a white mare stabled at Kinghorn, down to the ferry. Alexander angrily complied, furious that the King could put him to so much trouble on a wild, bitterly cold night.