“That’s easy arranged,” responded the Captain. “Let ’er stop ’ere; the Missis ’ll be glad to give ’er shelter as long as you like; an’ you may be sure she’s in good ’ands.”
Philip gratefully accepted the offer; and, neither of them being disposed for sleep, they sat and talked the night away, or such part of it as remained. Philip duly impressed upon the Captain the necessity for preserving silence concerning the real story of Dandy Chater—making his plea more forcible by telling the worthy man of the difficulties he might find himself in, should it become known that he had harboured a fugitive, or assisted him to escape.
Soon after four o’clock in the morning, wheels were heard outside, in the quiet street, and a knock sounded at the door. The Captain—spying out the land from the window—signalled to Philip that all was right, and they prepared to set out. Mrs. Quist had come downstairs, and had announced that the girl was sleeping soundly.
“Then I won’t disturb her,” said Philip. “I know that she will be well cared for, and I am more grateful than I can express. Will you tell her, when she wakes, that I am safe, and have gone with the Captain; that I will find an opportunity of seeing her mother, and assuring her that her child is safe? And now, if the Captain can lend me a cap of some sort, I am ready.”
The Captain would have pressed his own gorgeous silk hat upon his friend, but being dissuaded from this with some difficulty, provided him with a cloth cap, which would be less likely to attract attention.
Then the Captain sallied out, to be sure that the coast was clear; and, there being no one in sight, Philip took leave of Mrs. Quist, and darted into the caravan, which moved off at once.
It was still quite dark when they got clear at last of the streets of Chelmsford; and Philip Chater was beginning to congratulate himself upon the fact of having got out of his difficulties so neatly, when the man who acted as driver, and to whom the Captain must have given some word of warning, rapped smartly on the side of the vehicle.
The Captain, who had begun to fill his pipe, and had quite settled down to the enjoyment of his ride, popped open the little window in the side of the caravan, and put out his head. “What’s wrong, mess-mate?” he asked.
The man informed him rapidly that there was a gig—so far as he could make out, judging by the twin lights—coming over the hill behind them from the town—and evidently coming at a great rate. Indeed, in the silence—the caravan having stopped—they could hear the swift beat of a horse’s hoofs.
“Ask him what road we are on,” said Philip.