Apparently Clem realized that an embargo would in all probability be placed on the expedition, for he only waited long enough to say:
“Expect us when you see us,” and followed Wynne, closing the front door behind him.
“Come on, youngster,” he ordered; “we must sprint the first mile or they’ll put bloodhounds on our track.”
He gripped Wynne’s hand and raced him down the road. At the corner a fly was standing, with the driver dozing upon the box.
“Jump in,” shouted Uncle Clem. Then “Drive like the devil, Jehu. We’ve broken into the Bank of England and Bow Street runners are after us.”
The driver was a cheerful soul, and he whipped up the horse to a galumphing canter.
Wynne was quite speechless from laughter and excitement. When at last he recovered his voice it was to say:
“But you haven’t told him where to go, Uncle.”
“Wouldn’t be half such fun if we knew. Besides, he’s a fellow with imagination—he knows what to do. He’ll take us to a secret place in the heart of the country where we can bury the treasure. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he took us to Richmond Park.”
He spoke loud enough for the driver to hear, and was rewarded for his subtlety by an almost imperceptible inclination of the shiny black hat, and the cab took a sharp turn to the left along a road leading over the common in the direction of Sheen Gate.