Extinguishing the lamp the two Cubs and their friend crept down the little lane towards the wood. They did not step out into the open, at the cross-roads, but crawled through a gap into the wood, and made their way silently along a narrow mossy path. The clouds had dispersed, and now the moon shone brightly.
Crouching in the black shadow of a holly bush, the three “detectives” took up their position where they could see the white roads, and the signpost in the moonlight, and also command the wide, fern-fringed path leading down the wood, from the little gate.
They had not been waiting long before two black figures appeared, swinging along the Bradmead road. Reading the signpost, they halted and looked around. Then it was that the tall spare figure of Mr. Ogden stepped forward from the gloom and advanced towards Black Bill.
“It’s our old friend Crale right enough,” said Black Bill, turning to his companion, “but his beard forms a good disguise. Thought he’d pass for a blooming gent, and a high and mighty squire, he did. Here’s your old mate, Bingey,” he said, turning to Mr. Ogden.
The squire grunted. “Come into the wood,” he growled sullenly, “and then get on with what you’ve got to say.”
Moving with the extreme caution Danny had taught them, the Cubs crawled towards the spot where the three men had gone, followed by the Tramp, until they were close enough to hear every word that passed.
“Well,” began Black Bill, “this here is our proposition to you, Mr. Crale.” He began to unfold a long plan that it was difficult for the Cubs to understand. When he had explained everything he made his threat of exposing Mr. Ogden’s shameful past, unless he would agree to fall in with their scheme.
The Tramp was breathing hard; thoughts raced through his brain. Here he was, close at last to his old enemy, and he would have his revenge at last.
“Make your choice,” said Black Bill in a threatening voice. “Sign this paper, and write me a cheque for £1,000, or go back to your swell house and wait for the police to come along to-morrow.”
The squire stretched out his hand and took the paper. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a fountain pen. Smoothing the paper out on his knee, he bent over it, trying to read it in the moonlight.