As he picked his way over the stones, under the eaves of the outer buildings which had grown up between the old houses, with the raindrops dripping down upon him, and his feet slipping from time to time, with a little splash, into the pools and rivulets in the uneven pavement, he debated which price he should have to pay for the information he wanted.
But he never came near the true one.
He was brought to a standstill, in the midst of his cogitations, by a low brick wall. He was a tall man and he could see over it. He saw the backs of the deserted houses on the left, and a passage running behind them. At the back door of the fourth house a man was standing, who came forward quickly, peering into the darkness. When he was close to the wall he said:
“I beg your pardon. Can you oblige me with a light?”
“Certainly, Amos.”
“Your lordship! Is it possible? What can you be doing here?”
“I was looking for you.”
“For me! You do me too much honor. But what am I to do? I feel at present rather under a cloud, and, to confess the whole truth, I am in hiding from the police. You know, your lordship, since you threw me over, I have always been an unlucky man.”
He spoke in his old tone of almost fawning respect, and his last words conveyed a reproach uttered with tender melancholy. Lord St. Austell’s hopes rose.
“Perhaps I can get you out of the police difficulty, Amos, and perhaps you can help me in return,” he said in the low voice in which their colloquy had been conducted from the beginning. “Can’t you take me somewhere where we can talk. I’m standing with my feet in a pool of water, and with more of the same exhilarating liquid meandering down my back from a broken waterspout over my head.”