"Now, real life is so dull. If one could only meet with adventures—"
I caught the sound of wheels behind us, and turned round. We had struck off the downs on to the high road. A light gig with one occupant was approaching us. As it drew near the driver hailed us.
"Hullo! lads, is this the road for Polkimbra?"
The speaker was a short, grizzled, seafaring man, with a kind face and good-humoured mouth. He drove execrably, and pulled his quiet mare right back upon her haunches.
I answered that it was.
"Are you bound for there? Yes? Jump up then. I'll give you a lift."
I looked at Tom; he, of course, was ready for anything that would save trouble, so we clambered up beside the stranger.
"There was a wreck there yesterday, I've heard," said he, after we had gone a few yards, "and an inquest, and, by the tale I heard, a lot of lies told."
I started. The man did not notice it, but continued—
"Maybe you've heard of it. Well, it's a rum world, and a fine lot of lies gets told every day, but you don't often get so accomplished a liar as that chap—what's his name? Blessed if I can tackle it; not but what it's another lie, I'll wager."