cast about among all manner of impracticable plans for escaping it.
Of these the most promising--although I had no money--was to give the
Stimcoes leg-bail and run home; the most alluring, too, since it
offered to deaden the torment of uncertainty by keeping me employed,
mind and body. I must follow the coach-road. In imagination I
measured back the distance. If George Goodfellow walked to Plymouth
and back once a week, why might not I succeed in walking to Minden
Cottage? Home was home. I should get counsel and comfort there;
counsel from my father and comfort most assuredly from Plinny.
I needed both, and in Falmouth just now there was none of either.
Even Captain Branscome, who might have helped me--

At this point a sudden thought fetched me up with a jerk. The enemy,
by pursuing after Captain Danny, had at least left me a clear coast.
I was safe for a while against his spying, and consequently the
embargo was off. I had no need to wait for morning. I could go
myself to the old man's lodgings, unlock the corner cupboard, and
bring away the roll of papers.

I dived my hand into my breech-pocket for the forgotten key. It was
small, and of a curious, intricate pattern. Almost before my fingers
closed upon it my mind was made up. Stimcoe's--that is, if I decided
to return to Stimcoe's--might wait. I might yet decide to break
ship--as Captain Danny would have put it--and make a push for home;
but that decision, too, must wait. Meanwhile, here was an urgent
errand, and a clear coast for it; here was occupation and
inexpressible relief. It's an ill wind that blows nobody some good.

I set off at a run. On my way I met and passed half a dozen gangs of
hilarious ex-prisoners and equally hilarious townsmen escorting them