Chapter 10
"Aren't you going to open that big letter, uncle? I want to know what's the news."
"What is it to you, sir?" cried Uncle Paul, who had been opening a very keen-looking, peculiarly-shaped, ivory-handled knife. "Have the goodness to let my business be my business. I have a very great mind to put this letter,"--and as he spoke he carefully cut round the seals--"and the other missives away in my writing-case until I am alone--" Here Uncle Paul unfolded a letter upon the top of which was stamped the Royal Arms, and smoothed it out upon the tablecloth--"and read it in peace, without being pestered by an impertinent boy. Bless my heart! Why, Pickle, my boy! Hark here! It's a letter from the Government. Jump up and shout, you young dog! Hang Bony and all his works! It's all right at last."
"Why, what is it?" cried the boy excitedly, as his uncle went on eagerly reading the bold round hand that formed the formal contents.
"Hark here! 'His Majesty's advisers see their way to recommend that the long-deferred grant for the sea-going natural history expedition to the West Coast of Africa to be carried out by Dr Robson at his earliest convenience be made, and that the grant to the full amount will be paid in to Dr Robson's bank as soon as formal application has been received.' There, sir, what do you think of that? At last! At last!
Pickle, my boy, they say that everything comes at last to the man who waits, and here it is."
"Oh, Uncle Paul!" cried the boy, with sparkling eyes. "I am so glad--so glad!" And as he spoke he dashed at the reader, to catch him tightly by the two sides of the collar of his coat.
"Mind my clean cravat, Pickle."
"Bother your clean cravat, uncle!" shouted the boy. "Look here, sir; you always promised me that if ever that money came and you went on that expedition, you'd play fair."
"What do you mean, sir, by your playing fair?"
"You said, uncle," cried the boy, sawing the collar he held to and fro, "that I should be very useful to you, and could help you no end over the netting and dredging and bottling specimens, and that you'd take me with you."
"Ah," cried Uncle Paul, "that was when you were a nice, good, obedient boy, and hadn't learnt to say sharp impertinent things, and didn't go about setting free escaped prisoners and getting your uncle robbed."
"Gammon, uncle! I see through you, and--I say, what does that sergeant want?" For there was the tramp of heavy feet, and the non-commissioned officer who had been at the head of the squad of men they had met, marched past the cottage window.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
HE SAYS.
"Eh? What?" exclaimed Uncle Paul excitedly.
"You
"He is, uncle," replied the boy nervously, and his colour began to go and come.
"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Paul. "This looks serious, my boy. Well, I don't know. Perhaps he's only heard of the visit that has been paid here."
"I beg pardon, sir; here is Mr Windell, one of the sergeants of the prison guard. Could he see you for a few minutes?"
"Well, I'm rather--Yes, yes, show him in, Mrs Champernowne. Rodney, my boy, you sit still and hold your tongue. I don't know what this man wants; but you leave it to me."
Rodd nodded his head, and fancied that he felt relieved, but he did not, for his heart was beating faster than usual, and he was suffering from a strange kind of emotion.
"Good-morning, gentlemen," said the sergeant, saluting stiffly as he was shown in.
"Good-morning," said Uncle Paul stiffly. "Do you wish to see me?"
"Yes, sir; only about a little matter upon the moor yesterday. After we left you I did not feel satisfied about those prisoners."
"Indeed?" said Uncle Paul coldly.
"No, sir. The governor yonder likes to have things thoroughly done, so about three hours afterwards I went over the ground again."
"Yes," said Uncle Paul, without taking his eyes from the sergeant's face.
"And there I found out something else."
Uncle Paul was silent, and Rodd's heart went on now in a steady _thump_--_thump_--_thump_--_thump_.
"Thought I'd come on, sir," said the sergeant, turning back to the door, going outside, and returning with Rodd's creel, which he slowly opened and took from within, neatly folded up, the canvas wallet. "Belong to you gentlemen, don't they?"
"Yes," said Uncle Paul slowly; "those are ours. Well?"
Rodd's heart now seemed to stand quite still till the sergeant replied to his uncle's query.
"That's all, sir; that's all," said the sergeant, and Rodd's heart went on again. "You had left them behind, and I thought I'd bring them on."
"Thank you," said Uncle Paul quietly. "Very good of you, and I am much obliged."
"Don't name it, sir. Going to have another fine day, and hope the young gentleman here will have plenty more sport. There's a lot of trout up there, only they are terrible small. Good-morning, gentlemen."
"Good-morning, sergeant," said Uncle Paul quietly, and Rodd's mouth opened a little and then shut, but no sound came. "Wait a moment, sergeant," continued Uncle Paul, thrusting his hand into his pocket and feeling about amongst some five-and-twenty or thirty coins, all of which felt too small, for he wanted a larger one; but feeling that, he took hold of three together, when something made him stop short with his hand half out of his pocket, and he thrust it back again. "Dear me," he said, quickly now, "I really have no change."
"Oh, there's no need for that, sir," said the sergeant.
"Yes, yes," said Uncle Paul. "Rodd, my boy, have you half-a-crown in your pocket?"
"I think so, uncle," said the boy quickly; and then his face looked blank. "No, uncle; I haven't anything at all," he cried in dismay.
"Oh, pray don't mind, sir," said the sergeant, moving to the door.
"Good-morning, sir; good-morning. I don't want paying for a little thing like that."
"Stop, please," said Uncle Paul hurriedly. "Rodd, my boy, go and ask Mrs Champernowne if she'll be kind enough to lend me half-a-crown."
Rodd hurried out, feeling exceedingly hot, and with a peculiar moisture in the palms of his hands, returning directly afterwards with the required coin, though the unexpected demand had made their landlady open her eyes rather widely.
"There, that's right, sergeant," said Uncle Paul, "and I am sure my nephew is much obliged. He wouldn't have liked to lose that creel."
"Thank you, sir. Very glad I found it. Good-morning once more."
The man saluted both, giving Rodd a very peculiar look which seemed to go through him, and then turning upon his heels, he marched out of the room and shut the door, while Uncle Paul sank back in his chair, took out a clean red and yellow silk handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
"Rodney, my boy," he said, "I felt as if we had been doing something underhanded, and nearly brought out three of those napoleons to pay that man."
"Oh, uncle," said the boy huskily; "it would have been like telling him that the poor fellows had been here."
"Yes, my boy, and that you had been helping them to escape."
"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Rodd, and he darted to the window. "No," he gasped, with a sigh of relief. "He's gone."