Willie Sanderson rose and looked at her, raising his hand and scratching first his right, then his left ear.
Mr. Starling, who happened to turn at the doorway to observe how the customers would take such summary ejections, noticed the action, and was somewhat struck to observe Mrs. Martha's sharp tone dropped considerably, and that with a quick pursing of the lips she raised her hand and scratched her own ears, first her right, then her left.
Now, Mr. Starling, who knew something of signs and countersigns, and had had occasion during his rather adventurous life to avail himself of such devices, instantly decided that there was some secret understanding between the hostess of the "Blue Lion" and the burly fisherman, and was confirmed in his suspicions by the silent and immediate obedience of the lads, who, at a toss of the head from their leader, rose quietly and left the house, giving Mr. Starling a gruff good-day as they strolled past.
Mr. Starling looked after them, then turned on his heel, stuck his hands into the mysterious depths of his light trousers, and commenced his climb.
Halfway up the hill, however, he stopped abruptly and swinging round smacked his leg with an emphatic thwack, muttering:
"Hang me if I can make it out. What the Villikins and his Dinah does the landlady of a village inn want a making signs with a wooden-headed fisherman?"
Mr. Starling's wits would have been still farther sharpened could he have followed Willie Sanderson down the village and watched him unseen.
The lads, once clear of the "Blue Lion," turned swiftly to the left and ran down to the beach, where, in a confused heap, were the recently taken fish and the baskets in which they were to be packed.
Willie Sanderson, however, after a word or two with the old fisherman, turned to the right and walked slowly toward the end of the village.
As he neared the row of cottages he saw, coming toward him on the road that led by many a weary mile to London, a smart tax cart.