Understanding, only too well, the necessity for quickness and for caution, Harry returned, in a very short space of time, to announce that the dog-cart was in waiting at the gate in the lane, and a bag, packed with a few necessary articles, already in it. With the servant leading the way, Philip went through a long passage he had never traversed before, and, passing through a low doorway, found himself under the stars. The two men went silently across a sort of paddock, and came out into a narrow lane, where the dog-cart stood waiting, with the horse fastened to the fence. “I thought it best to do it myself, Master Dandy; so I sent Jim away, and did the harnessing alone,” he said. “Quite right, Harry,” replied Philip. “Here—you’d better drive—and take the straight road for London, once we get past the village.” They had come almost to the end of the lane, when Philip’s quick ear detected the sound of running feet, on the road towards which they were driving. He signed to Harry to check the horse scarcely twenty yards from the road; and they drew up in the shadow of the trees. “Get down,” he whispered to the lad—“and stroll out into the road to meet them. Find out what is the matter.” Harry jumped down, and reached the road just as two men came running heavily along it. Philip, listening intently, while they gave their breathless answers, knew that the body was found, and that the frightened yokels were off in search of the village constable. As their hurried footsteps died away in the distance, Harry came back to the trap, and climbed in, and took the reins. “You were wise to start to-night, Master Dandy,” he said, as he started the horse. “Bamberton won’t sleep to-night, with this news in the air.” Leaving Bamberton behind them—to be stirred to its depths presently by the news, and to gather itself in excited shuddering knots, within and without the Chater Arms, and other public places; and to whisper, and shake heads, and offer many wise suggestions in regard to the murder—Philip Chater and his companion headed straight for London. It was pitch dark, and heavy rain had begun to fall, when, within about ten or fifteen miles of the first straggling outskirts of the great city, Philip directed the vehicle to be stopped, and sprang down into the road. They had rattled on, mile after mile, in silence; now, as he stood beside the steaming horse, he looked up at his servant. “Understand, Harry,” he said, “I won’t have you interfere in this matter again. Keep away from the wood—keep away from everything and everybody. I am more grateful than I can say, for your devotion; and I will not insult you by asking you to be silent. Keep a stout heart, my lad; I’ll get clear of this, and be back with you before very long. Good-bye!” He turned away, and struck off alone in the direction of London; Harry turned the jaded horse, and started on his journey back to Bamberton.