Dr. Cripps—partly from excitement, partly from sheer vindictiveness against Ogledon—was only too ready for the expedition. Indeed, both men were so eager for it, though each for a different reason, that Philip almost forgot the caution that was necessary, in his own case; he would have started off, in broad daylight that very hour, to track down the man of whom he was in search, had not Cripps pointed out to him the madness of such a course. “You see, my dear Chater,” he said—“you’ll get me into trouble, as well as yourself; it’s a dangerous thing to be running about the country with a notorious criminal—I beg that you will excuse the expression; but you really are a bit notorious, you know—and I have no wish to appear in the dock, for anything beyond my own private sins—and they are heavy enough, Heaven knows. So that, if I might suggest, I think it would be wiser for us to smuggle you to London, in some way or other—that is, if you are really resolved on going.” “Of course I am resolved,” cried Philip, eagerly; “nothing shall turn me back. Cripps, I won’t believe you are so bad as men have painted you, or made you—or as you have made yourself. There’s a heart in you somewhere, and all the brandy in the world hasn’t washed it out of you.” “Thank you,” said Cripps, in a low voice; and hung his head. “Let me tell you this; that I love this girl with all my heart and soul; she is in danger—and I know that Ogledon will not hesitate to add another crime to his list. The question is (for you are right about the necessity for smuggling me) how am I to get to London?” They decided to consult Betty Siggs forthwith; and, although that lady was at first very chary of holding any communication with Cripps, she cheerfully accepted Philip’s assurance that the little man was to be trusted, and set about devising a plan to help them. Taking Toby into her confidence, also, she brought him up to the room, where Philip and Cripps were waiting, and they put the case before him. Toby Siggs thought about it for a long time; turned it over this way and that, but could make nothing of it. Betty, after all, settled the difficulty in her own quick fashion. She happened to be standing near the window, looking down into the yard at the back of the inn; when she suddenly clapped her hands, and laughed aloud. “’Ere you are!” she exclaimed—“the very thing!” Philip ran to her side, and looked down into the yard. A heavy wagon, laden with hay, had drawn into the yard, and the carter was at that moment climbing down, ready to enter the house. “See, dear lad,” whispered Betty—“the man is a stranger, and ’alf a sov’rin will be a fortune to ’im, an’ ’e’ll ask no questions. You ain’t above roughing it—an’ you an’ the other man can creep in under the tarpaulin, and get to town, without no one bein’ any the wiser. It’ll be slow—but it’ll be better than bein’ caught ’arf-way, an’ ’avin’ yer journey for nothin’—won’t it?”