“That’s right!” approved the young mountaineer. “And now, go on.”
“The light only lasted a moment,” said the Porcupine, proceeding with his story. “And as it went out, I heard him say:
“‘Well, I can’t open that. So I suppose I’ll have to walk.’ He was still for a little and then he went on: ‘But it’s not very far off. I can cut across the fields, and it will take me no time, if I don’t lose my way in the dark.’
“And with that he started off,” said the Porcupine, “and, because of the sameness of his name with that other one, I followed him.”
Nat had a feeling that somehow this was not altogether right. He detested spying and anything like it; but for all that, his interest was stimulated, as the story seemed to bear directly along the line of his own suspicions.
“Well,” said he, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice and only succeeding indifferently well, “where did he go?”
“Across the fields to Cliveden!”
Nat felt something like a shiver run through him. His feelings were that no other proof of Ezra Prentiss’ guilt was wanting. But his reason and sense of justice told him that he must not condemn, even yet.
“As I said,” proceeded the dwarf, “I followed him. But in the trees upon this side of Master Chew’s house I lost him.”
Nat drew something like a breath of relief.