But he progressed so slowly, for one reason and another, that I began to grow impatient; moreover, noticing that the shock-headed boy had disappeared, I bade him desist.

"A cold chisel and hammer will be quickest," said I; "come, cut me off this chain--here, close up to the rivets." And, when he had done this, I took his file, and thrusting it beneath my coat, set off, running my hardest, leaving him to stare after me, with his eyes and mouth wider than ever.

The sun was down when I reached the woods, and here, in the kind shadows, I stayed awhile to rest, and rid myself of my handcuffs; but, when I felt for the file to do so--it was gone.

CHAPTER XLVI

HOW I CAME TO LONDON

Justly to narrate all that befell me during my flight and journey to London, would fill many pages, and therefore, as this book of mine is already of a magnitude far beyond my first expectations, I shall hurry on to the end of my story.

Acting upon the advice of the saturnine Jeremy, I lay hidden by day, and traveled by night, avoiding the highway. But in so doing I became so often involved in the maze of cross-roads, bylanes, cow-paths, and cart-tracks, that twice the dawn found me as completely lost as though I had been set down in the midst of the Sahara. I thus wasted much time, and wandered many miles out of my way; wherefore, to put an end to these futile ramblings, I set my face westward, hoping to strike the highroad somewhere between Tonbridge and Sevenoaks; determined rather to run the extra chance of capture than follow haphazard these tortuous and interminable byways.

It was, then, upon the third night since my escape that, faint and spent with hunger, I saw before me the welcome sight of a finger-post, and hurrying forward, eager to learn my whereabouts, came full upon a man who sat beneath the finger-post, with a hunch of bread and meat upon his knee, which he was eating by means of a clasp-knife.

Now I had tasted nothing save two apples all day, and but little the day before--thus, at sight of this appetizing food, my hunger grew, and increased to a violent desire before which prudence vanished and caution flew away. Therefore I approached the man, with my eyes upon his bread and meat.

But, as I drew nearer, my attention was attracted by something white that was nailed up against the finger-post, and I stopped dead, with my eyes riveted by a word printed in great black capitals, and stood oblivious alike of the man who had stopped eating to stare at me, and the bread and meat that he had set down upon the grass; for what I saw was this:

G. R.

MURDER L500------REWARD

WHEREAS, PETER SMITH, blacksmith, late of SISSINGHURST, in the county of Kent, suspected of the crime of WILFUL MURDER, did upon the Tenth of August last, make his escape from his gaolers, upon the Tonbridge road, somewhere between SISSINGHURST and PEMBRY; the above REWARD, namely, FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS, will be paid to such person, or persons who shall give such INFORMATION as shall lead to the ARREST, and APPREHENSION of the aforesaid PETER SMITH. In the furtherance of which, is hereunto added a just and close description of the same--VIZ.--He is six foot tall, and a sizable ROGUE. His hair, black, his eyes dark and piercing. Clad, when last seen, in a worn velveteen jacket, kneebreeches buckled at the knees, gray worsted stockings, and patched shoes.

The coat TORN at the RIGHT shoulder. Upon his wrists, a pair of steel HANDCUFFS. Last seen in the vicinity of PEMBRY.

While I yet stared at this, I was conscious that the man had risen, and now stood at my elbow; also, that in one hand his carried a short, heavy stick. He stood very still, and with bent head, apparently absorbed in the printed words before him, but more than once I saw his eyes gleam in the shadow of his hat-brim, as they turned to scan me furtively up and down. Yet he did not speak or move, and there was something threatening, I thought, in his immobility. Wherefore I, in turn, watched him narrowly from the corner of my eye, and thus it chanced that our glances met.

"You seem thoughtful?" said I.

"Ah!--I be that."

"And what might you be thinking?"

"Why--since you ax me, I was thinkin' as your eye was mighty sharp and piercin'."

"Ah!" said I; "and what more?"

"That your coat was tore at the shoulder."

"So it is," I nodded; "well?"

"You likewise wears buckled breeches, and gray worsted stockings."

"You are a very observant man!" said I.

"Though, to be sure," said he, shaking his head, "I don't see no 'andcuffs."

"That is because they are hidden under my sleeves."

"A-h-h!" said he, and I saw the stick quiver in his grip.

"As I said before, you are a very observant man!" said I, watching the stick.

"Well, I've got eyes, and can see as much as most folk," he retorted, and here the stick quivered again.

"Yes," I nodded; "you also possess legs, and can probably walk fast?"

"Ah!--and run, too, if need be," he added significantly.

"Then suppose you start."

"Start where?"

"Anywhere, so long as you do start."

"Not wi'out you, my buck! I've took a powerful fancy to you, and that there five hundred pounds"--here his left hand shot out and grasped my collar--"so s'posin' you come along o' me. And no tricks, mind--no tricks, or--ah!--would ye?" The heavy stick whirled up, but, quick as he, I had caught his wrist, and now presented my pistol full in his face.

"Drop that stick!" said I, pressing the muzzle of the weapon lightly against his forehead as I spoke. At the touch of the cold steel his body suddenly stiffened and grew rigid, his eyes opened in a horrified stare, and the stick clattered down on the road.

"Talking of fancies," I pursued, "I have a great mind to that smock-frock of yours, so take it off, and quick about it." In a fever of haste he tore off the garment in question, and, he thrusting it eagerly upon me, I folded it over my arm.

"Now," said I, "since you say you can run, supposing you show me what you can do. This is a good straight lane--off with you and do your best, and no turning or stopping, mind, for the moon is very bright, and I am a pretty good shot." Hardly waiting to hear me out, the fellow set off up the lane, running like the wind; whereupon, I (waiting only to snatch up his forgotten bread and meat) took to my heels--down the lane, so that, when I presently stopped to don the smock-frock, its late possessor had vanished as though he had never been.

I hurried on, nevertheless, eating greedily as I went, and, after some while, left the narrow lane behind, and came out on the broad highway that stretched like a great, white riband, unrolled beneath the moon. And here was another finger-post with the words

"To Sevenoaks, Tonbridge, and the Wells.--To Bromley and London."

And here, also, was another placard, headed by that awful word: MURDER--which seemed to leap out at me from the rest. And, with that word, there rushed over me the memory of Charmian as I had seen her stand--white-lipped, haggard of eye, and--with one hand hidden in the folds of her gown.

So I turned and strove to flee from this hideous word, and, as I went, I clenched my fists and cried within myself: "I love her --love her--no doubt can come between us more--I love her--love her--love her!" Thus I hurried on along the great highroad, but, wherever I looked, I saw this most hateful word; it shone out palely from the shadows; it was scored into the dust at my feet; even across the splendor of the moon, in jagged characters, I seemed to read that awful word: MURDER.

And the soft night-wind woke voices to whisper it as I passed; the somber trees and gloomy hedgerows were full of it; I heard it in the echo of my step--MURDER! MURDER! It was always there, whether I walked or ran, in rough and stony places, in the deep, soft dust, in the dewy, tender grass--it was always there, whispering at my heels, and refusing to be silenced.

I had gone on, in this way, for an hour or more, avoiding the middle of the road, because of the brilliance of the moon, when I overtook something that crawled in the gloom of the hedge, and approaching, pistol in hand, saw that it was a man.

He was creeping forward slowly and painfully on his hands and knees, but, all at once, sank down on his face in the grass, only to rise, groaning, and creep on once more; and, as he went, I heard him praying:

"Lord, give me strength--O Lord, give me strength. Angela!

Angela! It is so far--so far--" And groaning, he sank down again, upon his face.

"You are ill!" said I, bending over him.

"I must reach Deptford--she's buried at Deptford, and I shall die to-night--O Lord, give me strength!" he panted.

"Deptford is miles away," said I.