“Well, I’m sure you’re a good sort. Take pity on a poor chap. Come, now, just think it over. A man is never the worse for doing another a good turn.”
“Who and what are you?”
“Well, if you must know, I was a jockey. Now, I’m in the horse-training line.”
“I guessed as much by your looks. Wait a bit; I’ll just have a squint, and see if the blokes are there or not.”
The speaker went out into the yard again, and glanced at the back window of the doctor’s residence, then he returned to the stable.
“They’ve hooked it,” he ejaculated. “Now’s your time. Follow me.”
Bill Rawton did not need a second bidding. He passed quickly out, went up a narrow passage by the side of the stable, and then entered the back door of the house to which it was attached. Passing quickly along this until he reached the end of the hall, he came to the front door of the establishment.
The ostler opened this, placed his finger on his lips to enjoin silence, and Bill emerged into the street.
It is needless to say perhaps that he walked as fast as his legs would carry him.
He had succeeded, thanks to the ostler, in getting clear off.