Strangers were rare in Great Letham. Every figure passed as they rattled through the town was familiar to Percival. The turn into the high road took them by one--a tall, straight man with something of a stiff air about him, as though his clothes were uncomfortable--that looked at them with a swift glance as they overtook him. "Hullo," said Percival. "That's a new face. Who's that?" "Why, that's a bit of news for you, _partner_," said Mr. Hannaford. "Bless my eighteen stun proper if it ain't. There's two or three o' them chaps about--'tecs." "'Tecs?--detectives? Why, what's up, Mr. Hannaford?" "There's been an escape from Dartmoor prison. Three of 'em in a fog. And one--you'd never guess!" "Not old Hunt?" "Hunt sure enough, _partner_." "Hunt--good lord, poor old Egbert Hunt! And those chaps? After him? Do they think he's here?" "They didn't know what to think," said Mr. Hannaford, and with a laugh at them for their puzzlement went into explanation. A fortnight ago the escape was made, it appeared. Two caught--one shot--but Hunt still missing. Traces of him in four burglaries, and each one nearer this way, and now the 'tecs here on the belief that he was making for the country-side he knew. Percival met Ima's eyes and saw in them sympathy with the feelings given him by this news. "I knew you would be sorry," she said. "Sorry!--why, Ima, it's awful, it's dreadful to me to think of poor old Egbert like that. One of them shot--and he hiding, terrified, no shelter, no food. When they catch him--I know what he is. He'll be mad--do anything. They'll shoot him down, perhaps." She touched his hand and he was moved to catch hers that touched him and saw the blood tide up into her face. He had seen much of her in the winter following his illness when she had lived with Aunt Maggie. They were brother and sister, he had told her in those days, and when he had spoken of that night on Bracken Down before the fight: "Oh, it is forgotten," she had told him. "Forgotten, and forgotten all the foolish words I spoke. Nothing in them, Percival. Yes, you are my brother. I am your sister. That is it." And now was sister. He did not notice that she caught her breath when the blood came into her face as he took her hand, nor that she disengaged his clasp before she spoke. Only that in her gentle voice, "You must not let it upset you, Percival," she told him. "You are coming back so happy. You must not let this spoil it." "But it does," he said. "It does. I can't enjoy myself--I can't be happy while he's near here perhaps--those brutes after him. We'll have to look out for him, Ima. You and I. He'll not be afraid of us. We'll go all round the place together. He'll come to us if he sees us." "Yes--yes," she said, and seemed glad. "What does old Rollo say?"