"Quite so," said Bartram.
Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened, but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had not seen it all from the very first.
They had now reached the turning-point, and as they passed into the dark lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the trees, Bill shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the young gentlemen were with him, after all.
Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch.
"Well?" said his friend.
"Ten minutes to nine."
Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay with his hand on Bill's shoulder.
"I should like a pipe!" said Master Arthur presently; "it's so abominably damp."
"What a fellow you are," said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough—which is better, by-the-bye."
"What a fellow you are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the oddest creature I know. What ever you take up, you do drive at so. Now I have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd tell me two things—first, why are you so grave to-night? and, secondly, what made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?"