“I have done my best, sir,” said Waghorn.
“I greatly doubt it,” sneered the Colonel. “But I have every intention of spurring you on to the work. Find out Captain Harford’s whereabouts, and you may ask what you will of me. Fail, and some fine night you mustn’t be surprised to find your house too hot to hold you. These little accidents will happen in war time.”
And with a mocking laugh he quitted the cottage, leaving Waghorn to uneasy thoughts.
The threat about the house had touched him to the quick, for if there was one thing on earth that he prized, it was this old home in which his father had died.
“I must bestir myself,” he reflected. “That malapert young captain shall not escape. Maybe Zachary can help me. I will ply him with cider this evening and worm out his secrets.”
Now, through all those weeks the old sexton had been most discreet, but unfortunately he was one of those who as success draws nigh grow less cautious. Having baffled Colonel Norton and Waghorn for nearly six weeks, it seemed unlikely that failure should now overwhelm him.
He, therefore, accepted the wood carver’s invitation to drink at the “Bell,” and Waghorn plied him with cider so lavishly that he became most cheerful and communicative.
“There’s no drink in the world like cider,” he maintained, smiling benevolently. “You can’t take it too late nor begin it too early. Did I ever tell you the riddle that the painter gave me—him as did Mistress Hilary’s portrait? ‘What’s the difference,’ says he, ‘betwixt a tankard o’ morning cider and a pig’s tail?’ Give it up?”
Waghorn nodded.
“The pig’s tail’s twirly, and the morning cider ain’t too early,” said the sexton, laughing boisterously.