“That will do, Shallock—you come out here, if you want to save trouble.”
“Oh, is that you?” stammered Shallock, and he sheepishly retraced his steps to the sidewalk.
“You knew it was, and you tried to sneak away from me, didn’t you?” challenged the stormy voice.
Ben was curious enough to press close up to the hedge and peer through it. Shallock stood leaning in a shambling way outside, a crestfallen expression on his face. The man addressing him was a very keen-eyed fellow Ben had never seen before. He was a stranger in Woodville. He carried a whip in one hand, and Ben wondered why this was.
“Now then,” spoke the stranger, “what does this mean? You’ve been trying to keep out of my way for two hours, and I know it. That worthless cub boy of yours sent me off on a false hunt.”
“I—I wasn’t prepared to see you,” said Shallock shiftily.
“Why not?”
“Well, then, I knew what you came after.”
“Yes, money.”
“Exactly. I had none. I know you’re a hard man, and I hoped you’d let me alone for a few days longer.”