“I wonder how far this place is Charlie was speaking of? I do hope he’ll work it to rights. I’m getting jolly sick of waiting, but anyhow I’ll stick to my post. He is a stunner, and no mistake.”
Presently the moon, which had hitherto been obscured, shone forth, and lighted up the surrounding neighbourhood with remarkable distinctness.
Rawton re-entered the trap; before doing so, however, he reined up Tommy, whom he had loosened, that he might nibble at the grass which grew by the hedge-side.
The gipsy glanced in every direction. In a few minutes, after he had seated himself again in the trap, he beheld at some distance down the road, which ran at right angles with the lane, a man running at the top of his speed. He was at no loss to comprehend that the fugitive was Charles Peace.
He was panting, and almost breathless.
It was evident enough that he had run his hardest. He threw his bag into the trap, put on an overcoat, encased his neck in a red muffler, and exchanged hats with the gipsy.
In the space of a few seconds he made such an alteration in his appearance that none would have known him.
“Drive your hardest!” exclaimed Peace, “and keep as quiet as possible.”
The gipsy put Tommy out to the greatest possible speed, and in a few minutes after this they were far removed from the scene of action.
“What’s been the matter, then?” cried Bill, after they had got clean away.