"That's you, is it?" he said. "I'll have a word with you by and by; but look here, I call upon you two men in the Queen's name to help me to take him. If you help him to get away, it's felony, so you may take the consequences. You haven't got to do with your local police now." The man turned away and walked swiftly back toward the town, the darkness seeming to swallow him up. He paused for a few moments at the edge of the harbour, to throw the light of his lantern across the water. "The London man," said Uncle Luke, unconcernedly. "Well, God save the Queen, but I'm sure she don't want us to help to capture our poor boy." Volume 2, Chapter XII. "OH! ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON." Harry Vine had but one thought as he dashed out of his father's house, and that was to escape--far away to some other country where neither he nor his crime was known--to some place where, with the slate of his past life wiped clean, he might begin anew, and endeavour to show to his father, to his sister, perhaps to Madelaine Van Heldre, that he was not all bad. How he would try, he told himself. Only let him get aboard one of the fishing-luggers, and after confiding in some one or other of his old friends, the bluff fishermen who had often given him a sail or a day's fishing, beg of him to take him across to Jersey or St. Malo; anywhere, so as to avoid the terrible exposure of the law--anywhere to be free. "I'd sooner die than be taken," he said to himself as he sped on downward at a rapid rate. The way to the harbour seemed clear, and, though the officer was pursuing him, Harry had the advantage of the darkness, and the local knowledge of the intricate ways of the little town, so that he felt no fear of being able to reach the harbour and some boat. He was reckoning without his host. His host, or would-be host, was the detective sergeant, who had gone about his business in a businesslike manner, so that when Harry Vine was congratulating himself upon the ease with which he was able to escape, one of the local policemen started from his post right in the fugitive's way, nearly succeeding in catching him by the arm, an attention Harry avoided by doubling down one of the little alleys of the place. Over and over again he tried to steal down to the harbour, but so sure as he left his hiding-place in one of the dark lanes or among the fishermen's stores he heard steps before him, and with the feeling that the whole town had now risen up against him, and that the first person he encountered would seize and hold him until the arrival of the police, he crept back, bathed with cold perspiration, to wait what seemed to be an interminable time before he ventured again.