ell, then, I'll see what I can do. Mind you, I don't promise nothink.
I'll think it hover. Better come to me to-morrow. Make it in the evening
for there's a h'inquest up at the Towers. My master's been copped for
murderin' his friend, and I'll 'ave to be about, then. Ow'll to-morrow
evening suit?"
Cleek drew a long breath and put out his hand. Then, as if recalling the
superior station of the man he addressed, withdrew it again and remarked:
"You're a real gent, you are! Any one'd know you was wot they calls
well-connected. Ter-morrow it is, then. We'll be 'ere and grateful for
yer 'elp.... Wot's this abaht a murder? Fight was it? I'm 'appy at that
sort of thing myself."
He squared up a moment and made a mock of boxing Dollops which seemed to
please the audience.
"That's the stuff, that's the stuff, matey!" called out a raw-boned man
who up to the present had remained silent. "You're the man for us, I ses!
An' the little 'un, too."
"Reckon I can give you a taste of fightin' that'll please you,"
remarked Borkins in a low voice. "Yes, Mainer's right. You're the man
for us.... Good-night, all. Time's up. I'm off."
"Good-night," chorused a score of voices, while the fat barmaid blew a
kiss off the tips of her stubby fingers, and called out after him: "Come
again soon, dearie."
Cleek looked at Dollops, and both realized the importance of getting back
to the Towers before the arrival of Borkins, in case that worthy should
think (as was far from unlikely) of spying on their movements, and
checking up on Cleek's progress in letter writing. It was going to
require some quick work.
"Well, Sammy, better be movin' back to our shelterin' roof an' all the
comforts of 'ome," began Cleek almost at once, and gulping down the last
of his fourth tankard and slouching over to the doorway. A chorus of
voices stopped him.
"Where you sleepin'?"
"Under the 'aystack about 'arf a mile from 'ere," replied Cleek glibly
and at a venture.
The barmaid's brows knitted into a frown.
"'Aystack?" she repeated. "There ain't no 'aystack along this road from
'ere to Fetchworth. Bit orf the track, ain't yer?"
Cleek retrieved himself at once.
"Ain't there? Well, wot if there ain't? The place wot I calls a
'aystack--an' wot Lunnoners calls a 'aystack too--is the nearest bit of
shelter wot comes your way. Manner of speakin', that's all."
"Oh! Then I reckon you means the barn about a quarter of a mile up the
road toward the villa
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