“To a money-lender—a man bearing the distinctive name of Isaacson,” replied Philip.
“That sounds bad,” said the little man. “He would be sure to find out about the notes before any one. Have you heard nothing from him?”
“How should I? I have not been to Chater Hall since that time; Heaven knows how many letters may be waiting for me—or for Dandy Chater. At all events, it’s no use worrying about it, or wondering what is going to happen within the next twenty-four hours.”
The cart in which they travelled was heavily laden, and slow; and the carter stopped many times upon the road, on the strength of the ten shillings he had received, for refreshment. They chafed at the delay, but could do nothing; for they dared not express impatience, for fear of arousing suspicion. Worse than all, from the Doctor’s standpoint, at least, it was impossible for them to stir from under the tarpaulin, or to show themselves; so that, through the dust and heat of many hours, they had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing the carter bury his face in huge tankards of ale, whilst nothing came their way. At such moments as these, the Doctor buried his face in the hay, and positively groaned aloud.
It was quite late in the afternoon, when they came into London, and the cart was hacked into a huge stable-yard. There, another delay occurred; for night was still far off, and they dared not stir in daylight. Fortunately, the hay was not to be disturbed until the next morning, so that they lay there, listening to the busy noise of the streets, and longing for darkness.
Dusk at last, and the noises in the streets growing fainter. They had agreed upon their plan of action, and had decided to take a four-wheeled cab to Woolwich—choosing that conveyance, as being likely to attract less attention than a hansom—and then to walk to The Three Watermen. They slipped down the side of the hay wagon, and crept out of the stable-yard into the streets.
Philip dived into the first crawling “growler” he saw, leaving Cripps to give the necessary directions. Philip leaned back in the cab, as much out of sight as possible, and began to wonder, with fiery impatience, whether they would be too late—or whether they would miss those of whom they were in pursuit—or whether Madge had really come to London, and, if so, where she was at that time.
After a long journey through endless streets, Cripps stopped the vehicle, and they alighted. Philip found himself at the corner of a narrow and very dirty street, in a neighbourhood evidently of the poorest class—and yet a neighbourhood which seemed familiar.
“Now, Mr. Chater,” said the little man, who was evidently growing more nervous at every step they took—“Now comes the necessity for greater caution than ever. We—we may absolutely ruin everything, if we are too precipitate. We must find out first where Ogledon is, and whether or not he has gone to the hut spoken of by the Shady ’un. Ah—you don’t know what Ogledon is—or what he is capable of.”
“I can guess,” said Philip, quietly—“and that makes me the more anxious to get on without delay. How far are we from the place?”