His restless movements were by and by checked by the sound of footsteps approaching. He crossed the road, stood in the shadow of an elm, and waited. The footsteps drew nearer; he heard low voices, and now discerned two dark figures against the lighter road. They came to the inn and stopped. One of them took a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock.
"'Tis you at last," said Burke, stepping out from his place of concealment. "That boy of yours would not let me in, hang him!"
At the first words Diggle started and swung round, his right hand flying to his pocket; but recognizing the voice almost immediately, he laughed.
"'Tis you, my friend," he said. "'Multa de nocte profectus es.' But you've forgot all your Latin, Dick. What is the news, man? Come in."
"The bird is flitting, Sim, that's all. He has not been home. His mother was in a rare to-do. I pacified her, told her I'd sent him to Chester to sell oats--haw, haw! He has taken some clothes and gone. But he won't go far, I trow, without seeing you, and I look to you to carry out the bargain."
"Egad, Dick, I need no persuasion. He won't go without me, I promise you that. I've a bone to pick with him myself--eh, friend Job?"
Grinsell swore a hearty oath. At this moment the silence without was broken by the sound of a trotting horse.
"Is the door bolted?" whispered Burke. "I mustn't be seen here."
"Trust me fur that," said Grinsell. "But no one will stop here at this time o' night."
But the three men stood silent, listening. The sound steadily grew louder; the horse was almost abreast of the inn; it was passing--but no, it came to a halt; they heard a man's footsteps, and the sound of the bridle being hitched to a hook in the wall. Then there was a sharp rap at the door.