“Let’s see your money,” said the old man, leaning forward.
Flower put the sum in his hand. “I’ll pay now,” he said, heartily.
“The floor won’t run away,” said the other, pulling out an old leathern purse, “and you can sleep on any part of it you like.”
Flower thanked him effusively. He was listening intently for any sounds outside. If the Tippings and the man in the gig met, they would scour the country-side, and almost certainly pay the cottage a visit.
“If you let me go upstairs and lie down for an hour or two,” he said, turning to the old man, “I’ll give you another half-crown.”
The old man said nothing, but held out his hand, and after receiving the sum got up slowly, and, opening a door by the fire-place, revealed a few broken stairs, which he slowly ascended, after beckoning his guest to follow.
“It’s a small place,” he said, tersely, “but I daresay you’ve often slept in a worse.”
Flower made no reply. He was looking from the tiny casement. Through an opening in the trees he saw a couple of figures crossing the field towards the wood.
“If anybody asks you whether you have seen me, say no,” he said, rapidly, to the old man. “I’ve got into a bit of a mess, and if you hide me here until it has blown over, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How much?” said the old man.