“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, for takin’ what may appear a liberty. But I should like a word with you, sir.” He looked behind him somewhat anxiously, then drew Bathurst a few yards farther away from the foundry door. “If I’m not mistaken, sir, aren’t you one of the gentlemen what’s lookin’ into matters up at the Lodge?” He jerked with his thumb in the direction of “up the hill.” Anthony regarded the black-bearded giant with curious interest. “I haven’t the least idea how you know that,” he replied, “but you’re quite right—I am! News seems to travel quickly in these parts.” Blackbeard’s teeth flashed in a smile. “No great mystery about that, sir,” he explained. “I saw you in the company of Sergeant Clegg last night with another gentleman that looked uncommonly like a police-detective. And I ain’t too bad at puttin’ two and two together.” He grinned again. “I see,” said Anthony. “And what was it you wanted to tell me? I take it that there _is_ something—you haven’t called me in here merely to wish me good morning?” He eyed the foundry-man quizzically. “No, sir, I haven’t, and that’s a fact! And what I’ve got to say, I’d sooner say to you than to the police, for I’ve no love for that fraternity—you can take it from me.” He spat with some vigor as a garnish to his remark; then proceeded to embellish what he had said. “Especially for Sergeant Amos Clegg. But I like the look of you, sir, and when my boy told me what he told me yesterday midday I advised him to keep a still tongue in his head till I told him to loosen it. When I spotted you last night, sir—I made up my mind that _I’d_ do the tellin’ and to _you_!”