'Come and look at this, my boy,' said I, holding out the paper.
'My crikey!' said he. 'That's 'im, sir, sure enough!'
'Sure enough, Rowley,' said I. 'He's on the trail. He has fairly
caught up with us. He and this Bow Street man have come together,
I would swear. And now here is the whole field, quarry, hounds and
hunters, all together in this city of Edinburgh.'
'And wot are you goin' to do now, sir? Tell you wot, let me take
it in 'and, please! Gimme a minute, and I'll disguise myself, and
go out to this Dum--to this hotel, leastways, sir--and see wot he's
up to. You put your trust in me, Mr. Anne: I'm fly, don't you
make no mistake about it. I'm all a-growing and a-blowing, I am.'
'Not one foot of you,' said I. 'You are a prisoner, Rowley, and
make up your mind to that. So am I, or next door to it. I showed
it you for a caution; if you go on the streets, it spells death to
me, Rowley.'
'If you please, sir,' says Rowley.
'Come to think of it,' I continued, 'you must take a cold, or
something. No good of awakening Mrs. McRankine's suspicions.'
'A cold?' he cried, recovering immediately from his depression. 'I
can do it, Mr. Anne.'
And he proceeded to sneeze and cough and blow his nose, till I
could not restrain myself from smiling.
'Oh, I tell you, I know a lot of them dodges,' he observed proudly.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396