"They took him," repeated Johnson, "but they didn't keep him long. Some of the Belton and Beltoft people went by night meaning to tear the murderer limb from limb, and even some of the gipsies, that's been thereabout so long, joined 'em. They broke into the outhouse at Squire Stovin's, where he was locked up, but somehow he got away."
What more easy trick could have been played? The gipsies had befooled the rest in the darkness, and smuggled Vliet out of danger.
Fierce rage against my persecutors restored to me the wits which had been scattered in my first consternation.
"All this you have told me is a pack of lies. I don't mean that you have lied," I added, noting the heat in the man's face, "but it is a diabolical plot. Another man has been buried under my name—a man who was dressed in my clothing, and his features obliterated cunningly. I am Frank Vavasour, and have been kept prisoner in the vaults of Melwood Priory while this devilry was doing. Remove this thing from my leg. Let me have a room, and soap and water. Tell your people to get me pen, ink, and paper. Have a lad in readiness to ride to Temple Belwood, and another to go to Tudworth Hall."
"And who's to pay, my lad? The mistress will charge high for letting a room to the like o' you. I don't send horse and man up and down the country till I see the colour of your money. Pay to-day and trust to-morrow is my motto."
"There will be no difficulty about that. My friends will——"
"No, it won't do, my man," said mine host. "Look ye, there's a pump in the yard. You can wash there, and welcome, and then do your own errands on Shanks his pony."
Seeing I should but waste time by tarrying, I got the fellow to release me from the leg-iron, and going to the pump, I made such shift as I could to cleanse my face and hands, and put my clothing into somewhat more decent array. When I saw the image of myself in the water, I no longer wondered that my tale should appear incredible, for I could scarce believe my own eyes. The flattened and twisted nose, and the scar across my cheek, had given me a look simply villainous.
The sooner the better I found myself among those who knew me, thought I, and I hurried forward with a brief good day to mine host, who stood at the smithy door staring and scratching his head, as if in some perplexity.
I made straight for Temple Belwood, where I might find Luke; nor was I quite without hope that my father might be inclined to reconciliation with a son who had come back from the dead. As I passed Belton church I caught sight of a woman seated on a flat tombstone, her back toward me, whose figure and attitude reminded me of Bess Boswell, and I entered the yard to get a nearer view. At the sound of my footfall she turned, and I saw it was the gipsy girl, her face tear-stained and woebegone.