The man in the ale-house came forth as Mr. Thornby dismounted, and offered that respectful greeting which the Squire was so conscious of deserving and Jeremiah Filson so capable of bestowing.
“Good day, Filson; good day t’ye. I don’t wish to come indoors: we’ll walk to and fro here on the green.—I’ve been anxious to see you, Filson, to know how you’re faring in respect of your Jacobite.”
“Poorly, sir, poorly as yet; though I take it most kind of your Worship to be concerned upon the matter.”
“Concerned? In course—why the devil not? Ain’t I a magistrate? Didn’t I give you the warrant? D’ye think I dropped the matter there? I’m as keen upon punishing the rebels as any man in England. Once you discover where the fellow is, you’ll see how ready my officers are to help you take him.”
Filson was rather surprised at this sudden zeal, for the Squire, after purchasing the Foxwell letter and granting the Everell warrant, had not shown a desire for more of Filson’s society, so that Jeremiah had been forced to curry favour with the justice’s clerk, that he might rely upon the ready coöperation of the legal officers in apprehending the rebel. But he kept his surprise to himself.
“I’m quite sure of that, sir. I hope I shall track the man to his cover, with the aid of Providence. I hate to give a thing up, sir, once I’ve set myself to do it. When I start upon a chase, no matter what’s the game, I can’t leave it unfinished, and that’s why I still linger here, though at some little expense to myself. But we act as we’re made; and I’m made like that, your Worship.”
“It does you credit, Filson: I like a staying hound. But are you sure, now, the man is still in this neighbourhood?”
“I don’t presume to be sure of anything, sir; but I trace him to this neighbourhood and no farther. ’Twas on or about this very spot, your honour, that he was seen by the postilion whom I met that same night at the inn where I had the honour of first making your acquaintance. The next day, you’ll remember, I had the privilege of transacting some business with your Worship. I came directly from your house to this, but my gentleman had fled the night before. He told the landlord a cock-and-bull story of having found a wagon to take him on to Burndale. But the landlord spied on him, and saw no wagon at the place he said it was waiting. Furthermore, the landlord declares the gentleman disappeared from sight at that very place. It was night-time, and the truth must be, that the gentleman turned aside from the road. Howsoever, that’s the last account I can get of him—his disappearance at the bridge yonder. I’ve been to Burndale, but no such person has been seen there, or between here and there. Neither is there any trace of his doubling back over his course. And, besides, if he was bound for Burndale, or that side of the kingdom, why should he have come so far by the road I found him in?—there are shorter ways to Burndale from Scotland. No, sir, if I may express an opinion to your Honour, his business must have been in this neighbourhood, not beyond it; he has found snug hiding hereabouts, but I’ll have him out yet.”
“Trust you for a true terrier, eh, Filson.”
“Yes, sir, with your Worship’s approval and the forces of the law to support me. I failed in vigilance that day at the inn—allowed the corporeal desire of sleep to get the better of me, and was punished by the man slipping through my fingers. But Providence, after teaching me the lesson, sent the postilion to hear my belated inquiries, which I ought never to have postponed to the needs of the body. The question is, where could my gentleman have gone when he vanished under the nose of this old fool—begging your Worship’s pardon—that night?”