“By means of your horns and bullock’s hide, George?” “Aye, this ’ere!” answered Mr. Potter, laying his hand upon the shapeless bundle. “A good friend it’s been to pore Potter, sir. Ghosts be useful things hereabouts.” “So I have observed!” smiled Sir John. “And, indeed, you were a terribly convincing ghost.” “Naun so bad, sir,” admitted Mr. Potter modestly. “I done my best off an’ on. Though I don’t like hauntin’ in the open—gimme a wall! Ye see, some folks be apt to shoot ... there be four or five bullet-’oles in this ’ere ghost arlready!” Talking thus, they at last reached the highroad, and Sir John saw the lights of Alfriston twinkling before them. Here the discreet Mr. Potter stopped and, lifting finger to eyebrow, bade Sir John good-night. “You’ll be arl right now, I rackon, sir,” said he. But Sir John reached down to grasp his hand. “You know who I am, I think?” he questioned. “Aye, Sir John, you be Dering o’ Dering.” “And a magistrate besides, George Potter, a justice o’ the Peace and Quorum.” “And I be Potter the smuggler, sir.” “And a man, George! And ’tis as such that I shall always know you, so—give me your hand, friend George!” So, in the gloom, hand met and grasped hand. “Lord, sir,” quoth Mr. Potter, “I dunno as I bean’t a bit ... glad-loike, you callin’ Potter your friend an’ arl——” “Why then, George, pray tell me why do you seek Jonas Skag so earnestly?” “Well, from what I be hearin’ ... an’ likewise addin’ two an’ two, I rackon Jonas knows more’n a bit about that theer false signallin’ ... an’ if so be I find ’e do ... why then, sir—why then——” “Well?” “No matter, sir—mum for that. But I rackon ’e wun’t nowise betray no lads to theer deaths never no more!” “What do you mean, George?” “Nothin’ ’t arl, sir.... Only, talkin’ o’ ghosts, rackon I made a pretty tidy ’un, but the fire were old Pen’s idee, though she calls it phross-phross.” So saying, Mr. Potter shouldered his bundle and trundled off in the gloom of the hedge, leaving Sir John to ride thoughtfully into Alfriston. CHAPTER XLV WHICH, AS THE READER OBSERVES, BEGINS AND ENDS WITH MY LORD SAYLE My Lord Sayle tugged at the bell-rope and thereafter stared out into the sunny garden again as he had done for so long; and presently, the door opening softly, a man-servant entered who, beholding thus suddenly my lord’s intent face, checked, shrank back, and stood, the door in his hand, gazing with eyes of fearful wonder. At last, becoming aware of the servant’s presence, my lord spoke, but preserving always his rapt expression: “Is Major Orme in the house?” “No, my lord ... the Major left ... early this morning, my lord.” “Well, Sir Roland Lingley?” “My lord, he ... went with the Major.” My Lord Sayle’s black brows twitched slightly, but he never moved, staring always out upon the sunny garden like one who saw that which no other eyes might behold. “They left no message?”