2
The first shock Turner received that day was on seeing a tall figure approaching from Hungerford. “Well!” he thought. Turner and luggage were in the Nasyngton grocer’s cart on their way to the station.
“’Ere, pull up!” he said to the man. “’E’s coming the wrong way.”
“Coming quick, whichever way!” murmured the Nasyngton grocer.
And the figure was coming quick! As he approached them, drawn up at the side of the road, Turner cried, “I say, sir!” But though he cried “I say, sir!” twice more, the figure passed them without stopping. The figure certainly glanced at them, but seemed to see or hear nothing. “Balmy,” said the Nasyngton grocer. And the figure strode on, his hat swinging furiously from his one hand. Turner took off his Derby and scratched his head.
“Right about turn,” he said at last, patiently.
The old nag wheeled slowly round, and ambled after the figure with the waving right arm.
“’E looks dark,” commented the Nasyngton grocer.
Turner was perturbed.
“Like the Wandering Jew,” he said softly. “No less....” And Turner whistled softly, patiently.