"I'm done now," thought George; "they've got me fairly. They're going to hold me up while that foreign hound gets on to me again."
He looked round the waiting-room, but it offered no escape. There was only one thing to do—to go off in the trap again; and George was about to do it, when a London train rushed into the platform. He hesitated; if he could get across the line, he'd be safe. He waited feverishly for a few minutes, hoping that Busby and Parrott would move, but they did not. The guard's whistle blew.
"Here goes," said George. He picked up a water-bottle, and hurled it at the outside window. A terrific crash followed, and the landlord's pony started off with a mad gallop. Parrott and Busby rushed through the waiting-room into the street. As they did so, George darted across the platform, and jumped down on to the rails. The train was moving away from the opposite side. Grasping a hand-rest, he climbed the nearest carriage, and opened the door.
"Hi! Stand away!" yelled a porter.
"It's Early!" screamed a voice, which George recognized as Busby's.
Safe inside, with the train gathering speed, he leaned out of the window, and waved his cap.
The two men were dancing frantically on the platform.
"Stop him!" roared Parrott; "stop the train!"
But it was too late to follow this advice, and as the train rushed off George beheld his old colleagues gesticulating wildly around a solitary, powerless porter.
The journey started, the young man's thoughts were soon fully occupied. It was evident that the three men were fairly on his track, and had no intention of giving up the chase. If once they caught him they would keep him, and bring Caroli along to settle the third legacy. He could see through it all quite plainly. And, so far, he had not succeeded in finding a plan to properly check them.