The negro looked back at his passenger once or twice, and muttered,
"Train-sick? Huh! Looks more like ter me he's in pickle wid de police! Wonder if I didn't ought to say somet'ing?"
Then a remembrance of some of his own earlier days came to him, and he chuckled.
"Fo' de sake!" he said. "I wouldn' want to tell all I ever did!"
And he drove on through Linfield, without summoning the guardians of the law.
Stuart, unconscious how near he had been to an unpleasant delay, slept on. Questioning would have been awkward, search would have been worse, for, in the pocket of his jacket, was Fergus's letter he had received in Kingston, which closed with the words,
"Get to the Mole St. Nicholas with utmost speed! Spare no expense, but go secretly!"
That this bore some new development in the Great Plot, there was no doubting, and the letter had told him to be sure to leave Kingston without letting Cecil catch a glimpse of him. That meant that Cecil was still in Kingston. In that case, what could the other conspirators be doing without him?
Towards noon, a whiff of salt air wakened Stuart. He stirred, rubbed his eyes and looked round.
"The north shore, eh!" he exclaimed on seeing the sea.