“So people tell me. You’ll find me at the hotel in the village, if you have any further business with me.”
Congreve nodded carelessly and left the spot—Phil, in a very nervous condition, keeping himself somewhat in advance.
“He’s a cool chap,” muttered the ruffian. “But it’s clear he knows nothing of our affair. I was a fool to make a fuss. It might lead to suspicion.”
“What a dreadful man!” said Philip, as the two were walking away.
“Do you know him?”
“His name is Ralph Temple. He’s a kind of tramp.”
“He’s an impertinent fellow, at any rate. It’s well I had my revolver with me.”
They walked back to the village, momentarily expecting to see or hear something of Harry Gilbert; but neither then nor later in the day was their curiosity gratified.