John Garnet's eyes brightened. "I do not know who and what you are even now," said he, "but you seem the best friend I ever had. Frankly, Doctor, I already owe you more than I can hope to pay. In my opinion, you have bought me, body and bones, at a high price; and I am ready to do your bidding, be it what it will."
"You speak like a man of sense," answered Katerfelto. "Come back to the house, Waif shall find us some dinner, with a bottle of good old Burgundy, and I will give you instructions at once."
They returned, therefore, to Deadman's Alley, threading the bye-streets with the same secrecy as before. Katerfelto informed his companion, as they walked, how he became the owner of so matchless an animal—the last possession, it must be admitted, with which John Garnet would have credited his physician. "I obtained him," said the latter, "even as I obtained Waif, and from the same people. Only, I paid hard gold for the child; whereas, they let me have the horse for nothing."
"And yet, they may have stolen both," observed his listener.
The other shook his head. "Waif is a gipsy," said he, "pure bred, or I should never have encumbered myself with her. No; they are a strange people. Their honesty is not like our honesty, neither, indeed, is their fraud; but they have their notions of fair dealing too. They brought me the horse to pay a debt of honour."
John Garnet opened his eyes. "A debt of honour!" repeated the Charlatan.
"The rogues had robbed me of some valuable jewels while I was sojourning in their tents during the illness of an old reprobate, whom they called their duke, and whom I attended without demanding a fee. Repenting of such ingratitude too late, for the jewels were beyond recovery, they sent me the highest-priced article they could lay hands on, and it proved to be the very horse you are to ride out of London to-night. How they came by him, it was useless to inquire; but they assured me—and I have no reason to doubt their word—that the owner would never cause inconvenience by appearing to assert his claim."
"Do you think, then, they murdered him?" exclaimed John Garnet, in an accent of dismay.
"Very probably!" replied the other. "But I had little curiosity on the subject; it was no affair of mine."