He heard some one coming along the road-way, and whistling as he came. The moon was struggling against the shadowing influence of a mass of clouds in the horizon, and Todd felt that in a little time the whole place would be light enough.
"Am I sufficiently unlike myself," he said, "to trust an appearance in the village? I want food, and most of all, I want drink. Yes, now more than ever; I cannot pretend to live without stimulants. Yes, I will risk it, and then I will go to London."
He sprang down into the road, and in as careless a manner as he could, he walked on in the direction that he thought would take him to the village.
The man who was whistling as he came along, rather increased his pace, and to the great alarm of Todd, overtook him, and said—
"A fine night, sir, we shall have? The moon is getting up nicely now, sir!"
Todd breathed a little more freely. After all, it was not an enemy, but only one of those people so common in places a little way out of town, who are talkative to any one they may meet, for the mere love of talking. For once in his life, Todd determined upon being wonderfully gracious, and he replied quite in a tone of serenity—
"Yes, it is a nice night; and, as you say, the moon is rising beautifully."
"Yes, sir," added the man, who was carrying something that Todd could not, for the life of him, make out. "Yes, sir, and I am not sorry to get home, now. I have been all round by Hendon, Golders Green, and Finchley, sticking bills."
"Bills?"
"Yes, sir, about the murderer Todd, you know!"