I followed her sudden glance to the doorway. A heavy grinding of wheels had sounded outside, and across our field of view, silhouetted against the deep turquoise blue of the night, there passed what looked like a gipsies’ caravan. A bony horse toiled in the shafts, and a long lean man walked in front, dragging at the animal’s bridle with almost as much apparent effort. Lights shone from the windows of the vehicle, and its chimney smoked voluminously against the stars. As it went by, we could see another man sitting upon the steps in its rear, his squat bulky form entirely blocking the open door-place. The caravan pulled up about midway over the green.
‘Now, that wunt do!’ observed Miss Angel decisively. ‘We warnts nane o’ they sort traipsing about Windlecombe after dark, leastways not them as keeps chicken. ’Tis on your road hoame: jest gie ’em a wured as you goos by, my dear. Tell ’em as you warnts to save trouble fer th’ policeman.’
In nowise intending to disturb the gipsies, I nevertheless took the short cut over the green, passing in the darkness close by their queer, spindle-spanked, top-heavy dwelling. As I cut through the beam of light that poured from the doorway, a suave voice hailed me.
‘Hi! my man! Just a moment! Now, Grewes, your difficulty is at an end. I have intercepted one of the inhabitants, and doubtless he will— Yes: inquire of him—very politely now—where we may obtain water.’
The long lean man had blundered into the light beside me, carrying two pails. He was clothed in little better than rags from head to foot. A massive gold watch-chain glittered across his buttonless waistcoat. He turned upon me two gaunt, diffident eyes.
‘Water,’ he hesitated, holding out the pails helplessly before him. ‘Water, you know! Could you be so kind as to—’
The suave, flute-like voice sounded again from the depths of the caravan.
‘Now, Grewes! if I am to carry out the little supper scheme I explained to you, no time must be lost. When once they are peeled, potatoes should never—’ The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway. ‘Dear, dear! My good fellow! there you are, still standing there; and I fully impressed it upon you that if rabbit is permitted to bake one moment longer than— Grewes! give me those pails!’
But the long lean man had drawn me precipitately away. As we hurried across the green together in the direction of the well-house, he seemed to consider himself under some necessity of explanation.
‘It is his caravan,’ he said, ‘Spelthorne’s, you know. And I am travelling with him for a bit, because I was run down, and—and other things. One of the best fellows breathing, he is, though you mightn’t—I mean I so often forget what I— Of course, I really don’t wonder that sometimes he— Why! I have forgotten to unharness the horse! Do remind me—will you?—when we get back; but quietly, you understand? Spelthorne, he is the best fellow breathing, but— Oh, is this the well? It is most kind of you, I’m sure!’