Altogether it was a merry and delightful evening, and when they at length departed it was in a particularly bright and happy mood. They walked back; it was not very far and a beautiful starry night; there was a tinge of frost in the air; Jack Carstairs threw his chest out and took a deep gulp of the fresh, crisp air.
"I believe these little diversions do improve one's form, you know, I feel like a sprint." He looked up and down the long silent street of semi-detached, shrubbery-enclosed villas. As he looked back his face suddenly hardened into a fierce look of anger, his mouth shut like a steel trap, and his grey eyes took on a cold, steely glitter; for just as he glanced round, a rough-looking man, carrying a big stick had limped past a lamp light on the other side of the road. Carstairs said no word, but there was an abruptness in his manner that attracted his father's attention.
"What's the matter, Jack?" He glanced round and Darwen followed suit, but the man was now in the shade and hardly noticeable.
"Nothing," he answered, staring straight ahead; but out of the corner of his eye he caught a meaning look from Darwen, and in response jerked his head ever so slightly backwards and to one side.
Promptly Darwen dropped back to do up his bootlace. A few seconds later, the man with the limp, who had crossed the road and was now directly behind them, quickened his pace and limped past. Carstairs stopped and faced round as the limping step drew near, but the man's face was averted and he went on without a word or sign; some way ahead they saw that he was joined by another man, hitherto unobserved, who, without any word of greeting, stepped out of the shadow and walked along with him; he seemed exceptionally short, but his hands hung down below his knees—probably a hunchback.
"Those men are after no good," the Reverend Hugh observed.
"No. I expect not. There have been several burglaries round here lately."
Darwen held out his walking-stick. "Do you notice the sticks we carry? Guaranteed to kill at one smite." He laughed lightly. Something of the spirit of the party returned to them, and they went home more or less lighthearted.
After the old vicar was safely in bed, Darwen went along to Jack's bedroom. He was half expected; he sat down on a chair while Carstairs stretched himself, half undressed, on the bed.
"That was Sam?" Darwen asked.