"What the devil does that matter, you fools? You should have remained where I placed you."
"You bean't our master," grumbled the spokesman, "and there weren't no money given to we."
Trent stamped, but could not gainsay this speech. It was his own fault, as he recognised plainly enough, for it was his duty to have posted official guards.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Twenty minutes to half an hour," said the yokel, drawing his sleeve across his mouth, as he set down an empty pewter. "Bill, here, and me 'ull go back, if it be as you'll give we money."
"You can save yourself the trouble," retorted Trent sharply, swinging round on his heel, "the prisoner has escaped."
Immediately the tap-room was in commotion, and everyone rose in consternation. It was not pleasant to think that a murderer was at large and in the neighbourhood. Narby, from force of habit, felt for his revolver.
"Guess he can't hev gone far," said he, in his nasal American way, "th' fog 'ud stop him."
"The fog will save him, more like," said Dr. Browne, quickly. "He'll have time to get away before the mists lift. And I'm glad."
"Oh, you are, mister, and for why, may I ask?"