“'Yes,' said he,—' of a quinsy.'
“It was as good as a play the way we looked at each other arter this. It was jest a game of chess, and I said, 'Move,' and he said, 'It ain't me to move,—it's your turn.' And there we was.”
“The fellow was shrewd, then?”
“Yes, sir, arter his fashion.”
“We must follow him, that's certain. They will reach Liverpool by the 10th or 12th. When can we sail from this?”
“There's a packet sails on Wednesday next; that's the earliest.”
“That must do, then. Let them be active as they may, they will scarcely have had time for much before we are up with them.”
“It's as good as a squirrel-hunt,” said Quackinboss. “I 'm darned if it don't set one's blood a-bilin' out of sheer excitement. What do you reckon this chap's arter?”
“He has, perhaps, found out this girl, and got her to make over her claim to this property; or she may have died, and he has put forward some one to personate her; or it is not improbable he may have arranged some marriage with himself, or one of his friends, for her.”
“Then it ain't anythin' about the murder?” asked the Colonel, half disappointedly.