“Which is a point, if you will observe, that I had never called in question,” said he. “Why, you ignorant clowns,” he proceeded, addressing the company, “can’t you see the fellow’s gulling you before your eyes? Can’t you see that he has changed the point upon me? I say he’s a French prisoner, and he answers that he can box! What has that to do with it? I would not wonder but what he can dance too—they’re all dancing-masters over there. I say, and I stick to it, that he’s a Frenchy. He says he isn’t. Well then, let him out with his papers, if he has them! If he had, would he not show them? If he had, would he not jump at the idea of going to Squire Merton, a man you all know? Now, you are all plain, straightforward Bedfordshire men, and I wouldn’t ask a better lot to appeal to. You’re not the kind to be talked over with any French gammon, and he’s plenty of that. But let me tell him, he can take his pigs to another market; they’ll never do here; they’ll never go down in Bedfordshire. Why! look at the man! Look at his feet! Has anybody got a foot in the room like that? See how he stands! do any of you fellows stand like that? Does the landlord, there? Why, he has Frenchman wrote all over him as big as a sign-post!”
This was all very well; and in a different scene I might even have been gratified by his remarks; but I saw clearly, if I were to allow him to talk, he might turn the tables on me altogether. He might not be much of a hand at boxing; but I was much mistaken, or he had studied forensic eloquence in a good school. In this predicament I could think of nothing more ingenious than to burst out of the house, under the pretext of an ungovernable rage. It was certainly not very ingenious—it was elementary, but I had no choice.
“You white-livered dog!” I broke out. “Do you dare to tell me you’re an Englishman, and won’t fight? But I’ll stand no more of this! I leave this place, where I’ve been insulted! Here! what’s to pay? Pay yourself!” I went on, offering the landlord a handful of silver, “and give me back my bank-note!”
The landlord, following his usual policy of obliging everybody, offered no opposition to my design. The position of my adversary was now thoroughly bad. He had lost my two companions. He was on the point of losing me also. There was plainly no hope of arousing the company to help; and, watching him with a corner of my eye, I saw him hesitate for a moment. The next, he had taken down his hat and his wig, which was of black horsehair; and I saw him draw from behind the settle a vast hooded greatcoat and a small valise. “The devil!” thought I: “is the rascal going to follow me?”
I was scarce clear of the inn before the limb of the law was at my heels. I saw his face plain in the moonlight; and the most resolute purpose showed in it, along with an unmoved composure. A chill went over me. “This is no common adventure,” thinks I to myself. “You have got hold of a man of character, St. Ives! A bite-hard, a bull-dog, a weasel is on your trail; and how are you to throw him off?” Who was he? By some of his expressions I judged he was a hanger-on of courts. But in what character had he followed the assizes? As a simple spectator, as a lawyer’s clerk, as a criminal himself, or—last and worst supposition—as a Bow Street “runner”?
The cart would wait for me, perhaps half a mile down our onward road, which I was already following. And I told myself that in a few minutes’ walking, Bow Street runner or not, I should have him at my mercy. And then reflection came to me in time. Of all things, one was out of the question. Upon no account must this obtrusive fellow see the cart. Until I had killed or shook him off, I was quite divorced from my companions—alone, in the midst of England, on a frosty by-way leading whither I knew not, with a sleuth-hound at my heels, and never a friend but the holly-stick!
We came at the same time to a crossing of lanes. The branch to the left was overhung with trees, deeply sunken and dark. Not a ray of moonlight penetrated its recesses; and I took it at a venture. The wretch followed my example in silence; and for some time we crunched together over frozen pools without a word. Then he found his voice, with a chuckle.
“This is not the way to Mr. Merton’s,” said he.
“No?” said I. “It is mine, however.”
“And therefore mine,” said he.