“He is making for the station,” cried the fisherman, “to catch that train coming in from Tilbury!”
“Let us go after him,” cried Trigger, who started with his master and the eel-spearer in pursuit. The man, however, kept well ahead, and Tom became so exasperated at the thought of his escape that he pulled out his pistol and let fly one after another each barrel, holding it well up to allow for distance.
“That is the spy, the shadow man,” cried Tom to his master. “I hope he is hit, sir.”
The result was uncertain, however, as he got into the station and just caught the train, so that when his pursuers came up they ascertained that he had to be pushed into a carriage because he seemed to be lame.
Thus foiled, the aeronauts returned to their work, and engaged a conveyance for the balloon, which was packed into the car and taken to the station, to go by the next train to Fenchurch Street.
On their way back to Sydenham they saw nothing whatever of the incendiary, who, they felt sure, was Eben’s master, and the same person who had been seen that day on the palace tower in disguise.
While in the train, Mr Goodall said to Trigger,—
“There is no doubt, Tom, but that I am beset by a deadly enemy who is trying to injure me, but what for I can’t imagine.”
“Jealousy, sir, depend upon it.”
“Of whom, or of what, Tom?”