“Sir Gavin,” cried I, “don’t you know me—John Craike?”
“Aha, Master Craike—aha!” He laughed and touched his hat with his whip. “What are you doing here, lad? Walking abroad?”
“Seeking you, Sir Gavin. Asking your help and advice. Purposing as soon as I may to seek Mr. Bradbury in London.”
“Oho, not liking the house and the folk in it,” drawing in by the bank, and beckoning me to him.
Standing beside him, I saw that his face, which I had thought dull as worthy Mr. Chelton’s, was marked by a certain strength and intelligence; his eyes watched me shrewdly. He muttered, “So you’ve had trouble, lad! You want advice from me and Bradbury. Well then!”
“Mr. Bradbury being now in London—” I began.
“Mr. Bradbury,” he laughed, “is no further away than at my house. That’s for your ear alone. He’s within your reach whenever you may have need of him.”
“I’ve need of him at once,” I said, overjoyed.
“Must you have speech with him?” he asked, “or is it a word that I may carry to him?” I looked at him doubtfully; he went on swiftly, “Mr. Bradbury made no mention to you of his association with me, I being newly-appointed justice of the peace for these parts, and bent on enforcing His Majesty’s laws, and putting an end to a variety of evil-doings. I’m well-informed of Bradbury’s wishes. It’s his wish that you remain at Craike House. You’re running away. Why?”
“Having overheard a pretty plot to put me aboard Blunt’s ship and get me out of England. Fearing—ay, fearing though you think me a coward, sir, to stay in the house with never a friend.”