My uncle’s boom sank suddenly to a frightened whisper. “Sailors!” said he. “I knew they would come when I saw that ’ere paper, and two days ago I looked through that window and three of them was standin’ lookin’ at the ’ouse. It was after that that I wrote to your mother. They’ve marked me down, and they’re waitin’ for ’im.”
“But why not send for the police?”
My uncle’s eyes avoided mine.
“Police are no use,” said he. “It’s you that can help me.”
“What can I do?”
“I’ll tell you. I’m going to move. That’s what all these boxes are for. Everything will soon be packed and ready. I ’ave friends at Leeds, and I shall be safer there. Not safe, mind you, but safer. I start to-morrow evening, and if you will stand by me until then I will make it worth your while. There’s only Enoch and me to do everything, but we shall ’ave it all ready, I promise you, by to-morrow evening. The cart will be round then, and you and me and Enoch and the boy William can guard the things as far as Congleton station. Did you see anything of them on the fells?”
“Yes,” said I; “a sailor stopped us on the way.”
“Ah, I knew they were watching us. That was why I asked you to get out at the wrong station and to drive to Purcell’s instead of comin’ ’ere. We are blockaded—that’s the word.”
“And there was another,” said I, “a man with a pipe.”
“What was ’e like?”