Yet at first sight there seemed nothing in the road outside to account for her agitation—just a heap of broken stones and sitting by it a worn, tired-looking old tramp. Just a very ordinary-looking old man. Yet Cecily got up, and, craning forward while keeping herself in the shadow as much as possible, tried to view him from every possible angle. Surely, surely, she said to herself, it could not be the very same old man to whom she had seen John Steadman give a penny outside the house in Carlsford Square only that very morning! Yet try to persuade herself as she might, that it could not be the same, she knew from the first moment beyond the possibility of a doubt that there was no mistake. And that could mean only one thing, that she was being followed, that they suspected—what? She began to shiver all over. Then one idea seemed to take possession of her. Almost she could have fancied it had been whispered in her ear by some outside unseen agency. She must get back to town without delay, by the very next train, she must take that mysterious envelope to its destination at once. She ran downstairs. Mrs. Wye was laying the table.
“I thought maybe you would relish a dish of ham and eggs. Butcher's meat is a thing we can't come at out here at the end of the week, not unless it is ordered beforehand.”
“Oh, no, no! Please don't trouble to cook anything. I will just have a bit of bread and butter. Indeed I would rather,” Cecily protested. “I find I must get back again as quickly as possible. I have forgotten something in town.”
She sat down and drawing the plate of brown bread and butter towards her managed to eat a piece while she drank a cup of the strong tea Mrs. Wye poured out for her.
“It isn't any use your hurrying,” the housekeeper babbled on. “You will have plenty of time to make a good meal and walk slowly to the station and still have time to spare, before eight o'clock.”
“Ah, but I want to get the half-past six,” Cecily said quickly. “I shall have time if I start at once, I think.”
“You might, but then again you might not,” Mrs. Wye said in a disappointed tone. The hour's gossip to which she had been looking forward was apparently not coming off. “You would save a few minutes by taking the footpath at the back,” she added honestly. “You cut off a good bit past Burford Parish Church that way.”
The back! Cecily's heart gave a great throb. Would she be able to escape that watcher in the front after all?
“Do you mean at the back of this cottage?” she questioned.
“Dear me, yes, miss. It is a favourite walk of the poor master's. If you go out of the front you just go round the house. Or you can get on to the path by our back door and the little gate behind we use for bringing in coal and such-like.”