“Really, they might—they might be a pair of young impostors after all,” laughed Mr. Jennison. “It’s one way to get half a week’s board out of you, you see, unless you’ve got your money or unless their story is backed.”
Mr. Banger fidgeted.
“That has occurred to me, sir. This uncommon delay—”
“Well, I hope not. I’ll be coming back from my friend’s to-morrow morning, and you can tell me if any thing turns up then. It may be they are not what they profess in this sensation story; and they may give you the slip. I certainly do recall something about that name, Philip, and about such a pair of lads. Don’t say any thing, though. Remember that, please.”
The horse came up shortly. Mr. Jennison drove off. Perhaps it is as well to say whither. He did not go forward, to reward the patience of any weary householder waiting for “important papers.” He rode to the junction of the Point Road with a cross-track, turned down the latter, and made his way in the moonlight to a certain deserted saw-mill, standing back among some poplars. He tied his horse, whistled, and presently was met by two men who seemed thoroughly glad to see him.
“Well, I couldn’t get here sooner,” he explained, tartly. “That little affair of my own, that I spoke of, has come up again and detained me.”
The three disappeared in the dark building. They talked there almost until the red and yellow dawn began to shimmer between the poplar-tops.