Looking at the gig, I saw that it was indeed Mrs. Harrison who was seated in it. Sir Charles beckoned him up to the wheel of the curricle.
“What in the world brings you here, Harrison?” he whispered. “I am as glad to see you as ever I was to see a man in my life, but I confess that I did not expect you.”
“Well, sir, you heard I was coming,” said the smith.
“Indeed, I did not.”
“Didn’t you get a message, Sir Charles, from a man named Cumming, landlord of the Friar’s Oak Inn? Mister Rodney there would know him.”
“We saw him dead drunk at the George.”
“There, now, if I wasn’t afraid of it!” cried Harrison, angrily. “He’s always like that when he’s excited, and I never saw a man more off his head than he was when he heard I was going to take this job over. He brought a bag of sovereigns up with him to back me with.”
“That’s how the betting got turned,” said my uncle. “He found others to follow his lead, it appears.”
“I was so afraid that he might get upon the drink that I made him promise to go straight to you, sir, the very instant he should arrive. He had a note to deliver.”
“I understand that he reached the George at six, whilst I did not return from Reigate until after seven, by which time I have no doubt that he had drunk his message to me out of his head. But where is your nephew Jim, and how did you come to know that you would be needed?”