"'Tis you at last," said Burke, stepping out from his place of
concealment. "That boy of yours would not let me in, hang him!"

At the first words Diggle started and swung round, his right hand flying
to his pocket; but, recognizing the voice almost immediately, he laughed.

"'Tis you, my friend," he said. "Multa de nocte profectus es. But you've
forgot all your Latin, Dick. What is the news, man? Come in."

"The bird is flitting, Sim, that's all. He has not been home. His mother
was in a rare to-do. I pacified her; told her I'd sent him to Chester to
sell oats--haw, haw! He has taken some clothes and gone. But he won't go
far, I trow, without seeing you, and I look to you to carry out the
bargain."

"Egad, Dick, I need no persuasion. He won't go without me, I promise you
that. I've a bone to pick with him myself--eh, friend Job?"

Grinsell swore a hearty oath. At this moment the silence without was
broken by the sound of a trotting horse.

"Is the door bolted?" whispered Burke. "I mustn't be seen here."

"Trust me fur that," said Grinsell. "But no one will stop here at this
time o' night."

But the three men stood silent, listening. The sound steadily grew
louder; the horse was almost abreast of the inn; it was passing--but no,
it came to a halt; they heard a man's footsteps, and the sound of the
bridle being hitched to a hook in the wall. Then there was a sharp rap at