“I say, old fellow, there’s some blokes a looking out of the window of the doctor’s house.”
“The devil,” murmured Bill, “I wish I was out of this. They’ll be in the yard presently I expect. Tell me when they draw in their ugly heads.”
“Hush, stow magging,” cried the man in a whisper. “Hold your row, you fool.”
The gipsy did not venture to speak after this timely admonition, but awaited the issue in breathless suspense.
In a few moments after this the harness cleaner entered the stable.
“You’d better step it,” he observed.
“Yes, that’s all very well, but how? Show me the way, and I’ll be off in the twinkling of a bedpost.”
“I don’t know who you are,” said the ostler. “You may have committed murder, for aught I know; but I don’t like to give a cove up, unless he’s a downright bad un.”
“Oh, get out—murder, indeed! I tell you, all I’ve done is to floor the doctor; but he’s got his knife into me for other reasons. I can’t explain all to you now, but show me the way to escape. Could you take me through the house?”
“I can, of course, but you may be seen, and then there will be the devil to pay!”