Dollops obeyed instructions upon both points—obeyed them, indeed, with such alacrity that he shut up like an oyster forthwith, dived into the caravan and bounced out again, and within five minutes of the time he had been told of the necessity for starting, had started, and was forging away with the others over the dark, still moor and facing cheerily the prospect of a thirty-mile walk to Cumberlandshire.
All through the night they pressed onward thus—the two men walking shoulder to shoulder and the boy at their heels—over vast stretches of moorland where bracken and grass hung heavy and glittering under their weight of dew; down the craggy sides of steep gullies where the spring freshets had quickened mere trickles into noisy water-splashes that spewed over the rocks, to fall into chuckling, froth-filled pools below; along twisting paths; through the dark, still woodland stretches, and thence out upon the wild, wet moor again, with the wind in their faces and the sky all a-prickle with steadily dimming stars. And by and by the mist-wrapped moon dropped down out of sight, the worn-out night dwindled and died, and steadily brightening Glory went blushing up the east to flower the pathway for the footfalls of the Morning.
But as yet the farthermost outposts of Cumberland were miles beyond the range of vision, so that the long tramp was by no means ended, and, feeling the necessity for covering as much ground as possible while the world at large was still in what Dollops was wont to allude to as “the arms of Murphy’s house,” the little party continued to press onward persistently.
By four o’clock they were again off the moors and in the depths of craggy gorges; by five they were on the borders of a deep, still tarn, and had called a halt to light a fire and get things out of the bag which Dollops carried—things to eat and to drink and to wear—and were enjoying a plunge in the ice-cold water the while the coffee was boiling; and by six—gorged with food and soothed by tobacco—they were lying sprawled out on the fragrant earth and blinking drowsily while their boots were drying before the fire. And after that there was a long hiatus until Cleek’s voice rapped out saying sharply, “Well, I’ll be dashed! Rouse up there, you lazy beggars. Do you know that it’s half-past twelve and we’ve been sleeping for hours?”
They knew it then, be assured, and were up and on their way again with as little delay as possible. Rested and refreshed, they made such good time that two o’clock found them in the Morcam Abbey district, just over the borders of Cumberland, and, with appetites sharpened for luncheon, bearing down on a quaint little hostlery whose signboard announced it as the Rose and Thistle.
“Well, there’s hospitality if you like,” said Cleek, as, at their approach, a cheery-faced landlady bobbed up at an open window and, seeing them, bobbed away again and ran round to welcome them with smiles and curtseys delivered from the arch of a vine-bowered door.
“Welcome, gentlemen, welcome,” beamed she as they came up and joined her. “But however in the world did you manage to get over here so soon?—the train not being due at Shepperton Old Cross until five-and-twenty past one, and that a good mile and a quarter away as the crow flies. However, better too early than too late—Major Norcross and Lady Mary being already here and most anxious to meet you.”
As it happened that neither Cleek nor Mr. Narkom had any personal acquaintance with the lady and gentleman mentioned, it was so clearly a case of mistaken identity that the superintendent had it on the tip of his tongue to announce the fact, when there clashed out the sound of a door opening and shutting rapidly, a clatter of hasty footsteps along the passage, and presently there came into view the figure of a bluff, hearty, florid-faced man of about five-and-forty, who thrust the landlady aside and threw a metaphorical bombshell by exclaiming excitedly:
“My dear sir, I never was so delighted. Talk about English slowness. Why, this is prompt enough to satisfy a Yankee. I never dispatched my letter to you until late yesterday afternoon, Mr. Narkom, and—by the way, which is Mr. Narkom, and which that amazing Mr. Cleek? Or, never mind—perhaps that clever johnnie will be coming later; you can tell me all about that afterward. For the present, come along. Let’s not keep Lady Mary waiting—she’s anxious. This way, please.”
Here—as Mr. Narkom had lost no time in acknowledging his identity, it being clear that no mistake had been made after all—here he caught the superintendent by the arm, whisked him down the passage, and throwing open the door at the end of it, announced excitedly, “All right, Mary. The Yard’s answered—the big reward’s caught ’em, as I knew it would—and here’s Narkom. That chap Cleek will come by a later train, no doubt.”