"I must speak with yonder scoundrel."
"Scoundrel is the werry i-dentical vord, sir—but bide a bit—easy it is."
As he spoke, the Captain turned out of the street into a field path shaded by a tall hedge; in due time we also came to this path and saw a shady lane ran parallel with it, down which a man was walking. We had gone but a little way along this path when Mr. Shrig halted and seating himself upon the grassy bank, took off his hat and mopped his brow.
"A be-eautiful sunset, sir."
"Yes!" I answered, turning to view the glowing splendour.
"So werry red, Mr. Werricker, sir, like fire—like blood."
But I noticed that his keen glance was fixed upon the little wood that gloomed some distance before us, also that he held his head aslant as one who listens intently, and had taken out his ponderous watch.
"Why do you sit there, Mr. Shrig?" I enquired, a little impatiently.
"I'm a-vaitin', sir."
"What for, man?"