Before she was through the arch Barclay realized that she must have been near him in the yard. By what chance she had understood his business there he knew not—had not time to guess. He turned livid.
‘Stop her!’ he shouted to the two men as he made a futile dash after the cart.
The cadger on the opposite pavement sprang forward.
‘Go on!’ roared the lawyer, ‘go on, man! Stop her! Stop her!’
Granny struck Rob Roy sharply and he plunged into his collar. The cadger sprang at his head, but the horse swerved, and his hand fell on the rein just behind the rings of the pad. There was a curse and a rattle; like a snake the whip-thong curled in the air and came down across his face, with a hissing cut that Barclay could hear where he stood, and, as the man fell back, his hands to his eyes, the gallant old woman swung out into the middle of the street.
‘Go on! Go after her! Five pounds if you can stop her! Ten!’ yelled Barclay.
‘Awa’ ye go and get yer cairt!’ cried the friend who had been standing with the cadger.
At the mention of money the man took his hands from his face; a red wale lay across it and the water poured from his eyes.
‘He’s got a cairt yonder i’ the yaird!’ cried the friend again.
‘Quick then!’ shouted Barclay, seizing him. ‘If you stop that hell-cat getting to Blackport to-night you shall get ten pounds and I’ll see you come to no harm. Run!’