"I'll joost tak a dander roond," he informed the casual guests, who had dropped in to drink and talk.
"Aye, there's nae mair fervid admirer o' the warks of Nature nor me. But I doot if ye puir tillers o' the soil wud unnerstan' the grand thochts which come tae me when gazing at the glorious firmament. There's a Wully Shakespeare spoiled in me, I doot. Aye, the drink, the drink. Auld Nick's broth tae catch unwary mortals."
With this final speech, which was Greek to the staring countrymen, he strolled forth by the front door into the street to look at the glorious firmament of which he had spoken. But the same was veiled by mists, and the night was extremely dark. No one was about the wet roads, not even Armour, the policeman; so Gowrie had every opportunity of doing that which he intended to do, which was to stroll down to the Red Creek, and see, if possible, what Mrs. Narby had been doing there.
It may seem strange that Gowrie should have been so suspicious of the landlady, for she had given him little reason to doubt her. But after his chat with Herries, and her mention of the legacy, and her panic in dodging his eye, he really thought that she had something to conceal. Then again the red mud on her boots perplexed him and aroused his curiosity. How he proposed to see anything in the dark, it was hard to say, as he certainly could not trace the footsteps of the landlady, when the night was so gloomy. However, he climbed over the low fence, which parted the garden into which Herries had dropped, from the road and walked round to the back of the house. The luck held good, for the first thing he saw was a lantern dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp at the lower ends of the grounds, and just where the creek was, as he knew very well.
"It's the wumon hersel'," murmured the spy, feeling his wicked old heart beating loudly, "and what's she digging like a ghoul for?"
He saw that she was digging, for on creeping nearer, the feeble light of the lantern showed Mrs. Narby delving with a spade on the near shore of the creek. So absorbed was she in her work, that she did not hear the ponderous footsteps of Gowrie. He dropped to the earth near the hedge, and watched, while the rain fell upon him and made him shiver despite the whisky he had been drinking. Here he heard the lapping of the water, and also, strange to say, a muffled beating, some distance away in the fog, which sounded like a giant heart throbbing. Mrs. Narby appeared to hear a noise also, for suddenly, it would seem, she was stricken again with a panic fear, and flinging down her spade, she hurried back to the inn, leaving the lantern on the ground. But at the back door she hesitated; then returned hastily and removed the light, blowing it out as she went towards the house. Gowrie wondered at these strange and guilty proceedings.
"Aye, she's the guilty limmer wha did the deed o' darkness," said he, heaving up his huge body from the mud. "Noo, I wonner what's she's hiding in the bosom of the univarsal mother. It surely canna be her ain son that she's murdered," he shivered at the thought, then dismissed it. "Nae, nae, it's her ill-gotten gains, the notes, I'm of opeenion. We'll hae a leuk."
The throbbing had stopped, the door of the inn was closed, and there was no sign of anyone lurking in the darkness. Gowrie stole forward, trying to find the place where Mrs. Narby had been digging. Suddenly he stumbled over a pile of fresh-turned earth, and came down on his hands. If the notes were hereabouts they would certainly be in a box, and with this idea in his head, he groped with his hands in the hole. For some time he was unsuccessful, and his hands became caked with mud. Again and again he raked the earth, but could feel nothing but the red, moist clay. The rain still continued to fall, and he was soaked to the skin. All the same, he continued searching, breathing heavily, and occasionally muttering to himself in words which certainly did not invoke blessings on Mrs. Narby's head.
Unexpectedly a thin beam of electric light shot over his head, and, as he started in terror, it was lowered, until he knelt in a stream of radiance. It came, as he could dimly see, from a boat on the low waters of the creek, which was moving inshore. From the deck he certainly could be seen easily, and as he was about to rise and fly, he heard an exclamation of surprise and a fierce oath. All at once, a man, followed by two others, sprang from the boat, and made for the shore. Unnerved with whisky and by this strange experience, Gowrie rose to make for the inn, but stumbled and fell again. The next moment he was in the grasp of strong rough hands, and in his terror--natural enough under the circumstances--he fainted.