“What of the hag?” Sir Gavin muttered. “What’s all this, Bradbury?”
“She brought this message from Martin Baynes: ‘Adam Baynes’ come home again!’—and Charles went grey with terror.”
“Adam Baynes! Old Mag’s son,” said the justice. “Shipped overseas ten years or so since, with Captain Phillip from Portsmouth for Botany Bay. How should the rogue have ever come back from New South Wales? He went overseas for life.”
Mr. Bradbury rose swiftly, and, hurrying to the door, called, “Roger Galt! Come here! And bring a lantern! We need more light.”
Roger Galt came slowly and unwillingly into the room, and stood blinking before us, watching Sir Gavin apprehensively.
“You dog!” growled the justice. “I’ve sworn to clap you in gaol till you’re hanged. But for this night’s work—”
“For this night’s work, Sir Gavin would tell you, Galt,” Mr. Bradbury interrupted with impatience, “that all will be forgotten. Don’t interrupt me, pray, Sir Gavin—that is your meaning. Galt, a while since you said that Adam Baynes was never shipped overseas; that actually he remained in England; and that he died from a bullet in some highway robbery.”
“That’s so, master,” Roger muttered, glancing round at the door, as if prepared to break away from the justice and possible custody at any moment.
“What more do you know of this, Galt?” Mr. Bradbury persisted. “How should this rogue, sentenced to transportation, have been free in England? Did he escape and return, or did he never sail?”
“He never sailed,” vowed Roger. “Guineas went to get him out of the hands of them as was taking him to Portsmouth to put him aboard.”