"Fairholt!"
"Ay, he is here."
"Here?" my companion cried, in a tone of rage and surprise. "What the----! Why, he should be--you know where, by this time!"
"Ay, but his horse threw him this morning, and he is lying at the White Horse here, with a broken leg!"
Smith cursed the absent man for a fool. "I wish he had broken his neck!" he said savagely. And then, after an interval, "Has he sent anybody?"
"He has had something else to think about," the man answered drily. "And so would you, master, with his leg!"
Smith swore again, and sat gloomily silent.
"He says if you can stead it off for twenty-four hours," the man continued, "he will arrange that----"
"No names," Smith cried sharply, interrupting him.
"Well, that--someone shall take his place and do the job."