"Hush. Don't speak so loud. Of course I'm still on the job; but I want to place a certain person in safety before moving further in the matter."
"I think it would be best for him to give himself up, and stand his trial," said Browne quickly, "especially as he has inherited this huge fortune."
"He hasn't got it yet," replied Sweetlips, grimly, "nor will he, until he clears his character and hangs the assassin of his uncle. Come along," they were hurrying up the village street, through the drizzling rain, in the direction of the caravan, "we'll lose that girl."
"She'll go straight to your wife."
"I daresay she--no, there she is." Kind pointed to a slim, girlish figure, which was gliding slowly before them. "I say, Elspeth, Elspeth!"
The figure stopped and when the two came up, she paused under a villainously bad oil lamp, which cast but a feeble gleam, so dusky was the atmosphere with the rain and swiftly coming night.
"I knew you would come," she panted, not having yet got over her encounter with Mrs. Narby, "and so I went towards the caravan."
"But ain't y' going there, my girl?" questioned Kind, startled.
"No. I can't stop in the caravan, thank you all the same, Sweetlips, you forget that Mr. Herries is there."
"What difference does that make? My missus can play society."