The helper was there, and as the extra work would fall to his share that night, there was an excuse for giving him a glass of ale, of which he partook, nothing loth. The message of Sir Harry Payne had been given, the clothes were packed up, the pistols ready. Yes, every thing had been done; and at last, when it was getting dark, James Bell, looking very stern and determined, and with a tendency to walk extremely straight, as if he were aiming at something right ahead, went off to Moggridge's, placed the packed valise under the seat of the post-chaise, the pistols in the pockets, and then had a chat with the postboys, and--a glass of ale. There was an hour yet to the time, so he strolled to the end of the yard, and thought he would just go as far as the stables to see if the helper had properly bedded down the horses; and this proving to be the case, and a shilling still remaining unspent of that half-crown, the dragoon suggested that a pot of the best ale should be fetched, and that they should drink it before he went. The helper was worthy of his title, and fetched the ale, and then, one seated on a truss of straw, the other upon the corn-bin, the two men finished the ale between them, and just at the time that James Bell should have been at Mrs Pontardent's gate, he was fast asleep in the stable. That afternoon Mr Barclay was busy with his partner, when a visitor was announced, and as it was probably a call relating to money matters, Mrs Barclay left the room. "Oh, it's you, Moggridge," said Barclay gruffly. "You don't want money, I'm sure." "Thank ye, no, Mr Barclay, sir," said the visitor, a closely shaven, sharp-faced man, with bow legs. "Things is moving, sir. I'm doing tidy;" and he went on chewing a piece of clover hay, which he had between his lips. "What do you want then?" "Well, you know what you said, sir, after the Hon. Tom Badgley went off that night, and dodged the sheriff's officers; and you know what I promised you." "Who's going now?" "Major Rockley, sir." "The deuce! Alone?" "No, sir. I think there's a lady in the case." "Who?" "Don't know, sir. Take up at Mrs Pontardent's party; half arter ten." "Thank ye, Moggridge. What'll you take?" "Well, sir, champagne's a thing as don't often come in my way, and--" "Come along," said Barclay, and Mr Moggridge's desires were satisfied. "Not a bolt!" said Barclay to himself. "Who's the woman? Well, I don't want him to go. If he goes off he won't meet my bill. He must be stopped, but how?" He stood thinking for a few minutes, and then sat down and wrote a letter which he took out, and picking a boy from the idlers on the cliff, sent it to its destination. Volume Two, Chapter XXI. A WALK AND A DRIVE.