CHAPTER XI.


THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE.


Mrs. Stimcoe, having begged Captain Branscome to take watch for a
while over the invalid, and having helped me to pack a few clothes in
a handbag, herself accompanied me to the coach-office, where we found
the Royal Mail on the point of starting. The outside passengers,
four in number, had already taken their seats--two on the box beside
the coachman, and two on the seat immediately behind; and by the
light of the lamp overhanging the entry I perceived that their heads
were together in close conversation, in which the coachman himself
from time to time took a share, slewing round to listen or interject
a word and anon breaking off to direct the stowage of a parcel or
call an order to the stable-boys. Mrs. Stimcoe had stepped into the
office to book my place, and while I waited for her, watching the
preparations for departure, my curiosity led me forward to take a
look at the horses. There, under the lamp, the coachman caught sight
of me.

"Whe-ew!" I heard him whistle. "Here's the boy himself! Going along
wi' us, sonny?" he asked, looking down on me and speaking down in a
voice which seemed to me unnaturally gentle--for I remembered him as
a gruff fellow and irascible. The outside passengers at once broke
off their talk to lean over and take stock of me; and this again
struck me as queer.

"Jim!" called the coachman (Jim was the guard). "Jim!"