"Where did you get it, sir?"
"I took it from an old wall at the end of the village," said Leicester, pacing up and down.
Stumpy read it.
It was the handbill offering a hundred pounds reward for the apprehension of Leicester Dodson, charged with the willful murder of James Starling.
No sooner had Stumpy read it than he grew alarmed.
"Some of 'em don't think you're dead," he said; "and this here's a dangerous place. That wig might blow off in the wind, and then where would you be? No, no, London's the place for us! We shan't get any more out of this yet a while, and if we stop here somebody will get suspicious. That bill's enough to make the dullest chap in England sharp. A hundred pounds!"
Leicester was not loth to leave Penruddie.
The place was hateful to him now that all he loved were in London, so the next morning they paid their bill and went up to the great city.
Very changed did Leicester seem as he passed familiar places, and remembered that he must not enter them. Stranger still, he saw some familiar faces, and they passed him and did not recognize him.