"Where's the master off to? St. Pancras?" asked Jabez.
"Fadge-te-fadge, gang out of my gate! Away, and lig down your daft head in bed!" said Gubblum.
Jabez did not act on the peddler's advice. He returned to the bar to await the return of Mrs. Drayton, whose unaccustomed absence gave rise to many sapient conjectures in the boy's lachrymose noddle. He found the door to the road open, and from this circumstance his swift intelligence drew the conclusion that his master had already gone. His hand was on the door to close and bolt it, when he heard rapid footsteps approaching. In an instant two men pushed past him and into the house.
"Where's Mr. Drayton," said one, panting from his run.
"He's this minute gone," said Jabez.
"Is that true, my lad?" the man asked, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"He's gone to St. Pancras, sir. He's got to be there at midnight," said Jabez.
The boy had recognized the visitors, and was trembling.
The men glanced into each other's faces.
"That was Drayton—the man that ran past us down the road," said one.