English fiction -- 19th century; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; Smugglers -- Fiction
"The crest!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "Then it must be one of
them! And I nearly knew it by the face. Shall I ask here which of them
it is?--no, better not. Suppose I go out and take a look at the town?"
he continued a few minutes later, waking up from a reverie.
Putting on his straw hat, which had a bit of black ribbon tied round
it, and a good-sized brim, he went strolling hither and thither. It
was not market day: but few people were abroad, and the streets looked
almost deserted. People did not care to come abroad in the blazing
sun, unless obliged. Altogether, there was not much for Mr. George
North to see. Before an inn-door stood a kind of small yellow van, or
omnibus--it was in fact something between the two--which was being
laden to start. It made its journeys three times a week, and was
called the two-horse van.
For want of something better to look at, Mr. George North stood
watching the putting-to of the horses. On the sides of the van were
inscribed the names of the places it called at; amidst them was
Greylands. His eyes rested on the name and a sudden thought arose to
him: Suppose I go over to Greylands by this yellow omnibus!
"Do you call at all these places to-day?" he asked of a man, who was
evidently the driver.
"At every one of 'em, sir. And come back here through 'em again
to-morrow."
"Have I time to go as far as the Turk's Head and back before you
start?"
"Plenty of time, sir. We are not particular to a few minutes either
way."
Mr. George North proceeded to the Turk's Head; not in the rather lazy
fashion to which his movements seemed by nature inclined, but as fast
as the sun allowed him. He there told the head waiter that he was
going to make a little excursion into the country for the purpose of
looking about him, and might not be back until evening, or even before
the morrow.
"Inside or outside, sir?" questioned the driver when he got back.
"Oh, outside to-day. Can't I sit by you?"
He was welcome, the driver said, the seat not being taken; and Mr.
George North mounted to the seat and put up his umbrella, which he had
brought with him as a shelter against the sun. Two or three more
passengers got up behind, and placed themselves amid the luggage; and
there were several inside.
The two-horse van sped along very fairly; and in a short time reached
the first village. After descending a hill, the glorious sea burst
into view.
"What place do you call this?" asked the stranger.
"This is Greylands, sir."
"Greylands, is it? I think I'll get down here. Dear me, what a
beautiful sea! How much do I pay you?"
"A shilling fare, sir. Anything you please for the driver. Thank you,
sir; thank you," concluded the man pocketing the eighteen-pence given
to him. "We shall stop in a minute, sir, at the Dolphin Inn."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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