"But there was no need to strip. The police won't be stripped."
"It's my way, and was the way of my fathers before me."
"In Africa, but not in England."
"Pooh!" was all that Durgo answered, and the two trudged along, bowing their heads against the now furiously driving wind. Shortly they came to Mrs. Tunks' hut, and the door was opened by the old woman herself.
"I felt that you were coming, master," she said, nodding. "Enter."
"No," said Durgo, pausing on the threshold of the ill-smelling room. "I have to go back to my post and watch for the coming of the Vands. Mr. Lister will remain here. Has your grandson gone?"
"No, lovey—I mean master," said Granny coaxingly. "He's ever so much better for the medicine you gave him, and is quite his own self. But I've sent the gel to get a boat to take him to the caravan. They've moved it down the channel to a meadow near the high road. The gel will bring the boat up here in an hour or so, and take Luke back with her; then he'll go on the merry road with her and my sister."
"You should have sent Luke away before," said Durgo frowning, "for he knew all about the murder, and has blackmailed the Vands. Inglis and his constables will be on the opposite bank to this place soon, and they may arrest him. I shan't say more than I can help, but get him away as soon as you can."
"Yes, master; yes, deary; yes, lovey!" croaked the old woman; and Durgo, with a significant glance at her and a nod to Cyril, turned away into the gloom.
"Won't you come in, lovey?" asked Mrs. Tunks coaxingly.