I was scarce clear of the inn before the limb of the law was at my heels.I saw his face plain in the moonlight; and the most resolute purpose showed in it, along with an unmoved composure.Achill went over me.'This is no common adventure,' thinks I to myself.'You have got hold of a man of character, St.Ives! Abite-hard, a bull-dog, a weasel is on your trail; and how are you to throw him off?' Who was he? By some of his expressions I judged he was a hanger-on of courts.But in what character had he followed the assizes? As a simple spectator, as a lawyer's clerk, as a criminal himself, or - last and worst supposition - as a Bow-
street 'runner'?
The cart would wait for me, perhaps, half a mile down our onward road, which I was already following.And I told myself that in a few minutes' walking, Bow-street runner or not, I should have him at my mercy.And then reflection came to me in time.Of all things, one was out of the question.Upon no account must this obtrusive fellow see the cart.Until I had killed or shook him off, I was quite divorced from my companions - alone, in the midst of England, on a frosty by-way leading whither I knew not, with a sleuth-hound at my heels, and never a friend but the holly-stick!
We came at the same time to a crossing of lanes.The branch to the left was overhung with trees, deeply sunken and dark.Not a ray of moonlight penetrated its recesses; and I took it at a venture.The wretch followed my example in silence; and for some time we crunched together over frozen pools without a word.Then he found his voice, with a chuckle.
'This is not the way to Mr.Merton's,' said he.
'No?' said I.'It is mine, however.'
'And therefore mine,' said he.
Again we fell silent; and we may thus have covered half a mile before the lane, taking a sudden turn, brought us forth again into the moonshine.With his hooded great-coat on his back, his valise in his hand, his black wig adjusted, and footing it on the ice with a sort of sober doggedness of manner, my enemy was changed almost beyond recognition: changed in everything but a certain dry, polemical, pedantic air, that spoke of a sedentary occupation and high stools.I observed, too, that his valise was heavy; and, putting this and that together, hit upon a plan.
'A seasonable night, sir,' said I.'What do you say to a bit of running? The frost has me by the toes.'
'With all the pleasure in life,' says he.
His voice seemed well assured, which pleased me little.However, there was nothing else to try, except violence, for which it would always be too soon.I took to my heels accordingly, he after me;
and for some time the slapping of our feet on the hard road might have been heard a mile away.He had started a pace behind me, and he finished in the same position.For all his extra years and the weight of his valise, he had not lost a hair's breadth.The devil might race him for me - I had enough of it!
And, besides, to run so fast was contrary to my interests.We could not run long without arriving somewhere.At any moment we might turn a corner and find ourselves at the lodge-gate of some Squire Merton, in the midst of a village whose constable was sober, or in the hands of a patrol.There was no help for it - I must finish with him on the spot, as long as it was possible.I looked about me, and the place seemed suitable; never a light, never a house - nothing but stubble-fields, fallows, and a few stunted trees.I stopped and eyed him in the moonlight with an angry stare.
'Enough of this foolery!' said I.
He had tamed, and now faced me full, very pale, but with no sign of shrinking.
'I am quite of your opinion,' said he.'You have tried me at the running; you can try me next at the high jump.It will be all the same.It must end the one way.'
I made my holly whistle about my head.
'I believe you know what way!' said I.'We are alone, it is night, and I am wholly resolved.Are you not frightened?'
'No,' he said, 'not in the smallest.I do not box, sir; but I am not a coward, as you may have supposed.Perhaps it will simplify our relations if I tell you at the outset that I walk armed.'
Quick as lightning I made a feint at his head; as quickly he gave ground, and at the same time I saw a pistol glitter in his hand.
'No more of that, Mr.French-Prisoner!' he said.'It will do me no good to have your death at my door.'
'Faith, nor me either!' said I; and I lowered my stick and considered the man, not without a twinkle of admiration.'You see,' I said, 'there is one consideration that you appear to overlook: there are a great many chances that your pistol may miss fire.'
'I have a pair,' he returned.'Never travel without a brace of barkers.'
'I make you my compliment,' said I.'You are able to take care of yourself, and that is a good trait.But, my good man! let us look at this matter dispassionately.You are not a coward, and no more am I; we are both men of excellent sense; I have good reason, whatever it may be, to keep my concerns to myself and to walk alone.Now I put it to you pointedly, am I likely to stand it? Am I likely to put up with your continued and - excuse me - highly impudent INGERENCE into my private affairs?'
'Another French word,' says he composedly.
'Oh! damn your French words!' cried I.'You seem to be a Frenchman yourself!'
'I have had many opportunities by which I have profited,' he explained.'Few men are better acquainted with the similarities and differences, whether of idiom or accent, of the two languages.'
'You are a pompous fellow, too!' said I.
'Oh, I can make distinctions, sir,' says he.'I can talk with Bedfordshire peasants; and I can express myself becomingly, I hope, in the company of a gentleman of education like yourself.'
'If you set up to be a gentleman - ' I began.
'Pardon me,' he interrupted: 'I make no such claim.I only see the nobility and gentry in the way of business.I am quite a plain person.'
'For the Lord's sake,' I exclaimed, 'set my mind at rest upon one point.In the name of mystery, who and what are you?'
'I have no cause to be ashamed of my name, sir,' said he, 'nor yet my trade.I am Thomas Dudgeon, at your service, clerk to Mr.