"I really think, ma'am," said Captain Branscome, "that, once in
Jamaica, we shall have no difficulty in finding, at the western end
of the island, just the ship we require."
"Bless my soul!" said Miss Belcher. "Except for the sea-voyage, it
might be a middle-aged jaunt in a po'-shay!"
[1] Miss Belcher was here employing a smuggling term. A "spotsman"
is the agent who arranges for a run of goods, and directs the
operation from the shore, without necessarily taking a part in it.
CHAPTER XXII.
A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN.
Indeed, the longer we weighed the pros and cons the more feasible
appeared the simple adventure. We ran, to be sure, the risk of being
waylaid on our passage by an American privateer; but this was a
danger incident to all who sailed on board his Majesty's Post Office
packets in the year 1814. That anything was to be feared from the
man Glass, none of us (I believe) stopped to consider. We thought of
him only as a foiled criminal, a fugitive from justice, and
speculated only on the chance that, with the hue-and-cry out and the
whole countryside placarded, the Plymouth runners would lay him by
the heels.
Undoubtedly he had made for Plymouth. From Torpoint came news that a
man answering to his description had crossed the ferry there on the
morning after the murder. The regular ferryman there had stepped
into a public-house for his regular morning glass of rum-and-water;
and in his absence the small boy who acted as substitute had taken a
stranger across. The stranger, who appeared to be in a sweating
hurry, had rewarded the boy with half a crown; and the boy, rowing
back to the Torpoint side and finding his master still in the tavern,
had kept his own counsel and the money. Now the hue-and-cry had
frightened him into confessing; and his description left no doubt
that the impatient passenger was Aaron Glass.
Such a man had been observed, about two hours later, mingling in a
fish auction on the Barbican; and had actually bidden for a boatload
of mackerel, but without purchasing. From the auction he had walked
away in the direction of Southside Street; and from that point all
trace of him was lost.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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