He made fearful and wonderful détours to avoid a few straggling policemen, or any figure which in the distance looked remotely like a British seaman. The sight of a shopkeeper sitting at his door and reading the Templeton Observer scared him, and the bill offering a reward for his discovery all but drove him headlong back to the school without accomplishing his mission.
At length, after an anxious voyage, he ran into Mr Webster’s harbour, and for a little while breathed again.
The bookseller knew quite well what book Pledge had ordered.
“Here it is,” said he, handing over a small parcel, “and I’d advise you to get rid of it as soon as you can. It would do you no good to be found in your pocket, or Mr Pledge either,” he added.
“He says it’s paid for,” said Heathcote.
“Quite right.” Then, noticing that the boy still seemed reluctant to launch forth once more into the High Street, he said—
“Perhaps you’d like to look round the shop, Mr Heathcote?”
Heathcote thought he would, and spent a quarter of an hour in investigating Mr Webster’s shelves of books.
Just as he was about to leave, Duffield and the “sociable” Raggles entered the shop.
“Hullo, Georgie!” said the latter; “who’d have thought of seeing you in the town? Everyone says you’re keeping out of the way of the police, don’t they, Duff?”