"That's all right," said Kind meditatively, and refused to speak further. Nor did the doctor worry him with questions. The man seemed to be sunk in deep thought, and tramped along the muddy village street, apparently turning over his late discoveries,--whatever they might be--in his own mind. It was still misty, and the stars were veiled by the thick white fog, so that the night was as dark as the pit. But Kind seemed to know his way as well as a swallow flying south, and unhesitatingly steered the doctor down the street, and into the outskirts of the village. Here, in a sloppy meadow, stood the caravan,--at least Kind by a gesture intimated that it was there, for in the pitchy darkness Browne could see nothing. The Cheap-jack kept well alongside the fence, and began to whistle "Garryowen" in a lively manner. This was evidently a signal to warn his wife that he was approaching, so that she might not be scared by footsteps. Suddenly Kind turned abruptly away from the fence, and Browne, following close at his heels, almost ran his nose against the vehicle, which which was Kind's migratory home. It loomed up unexpectedly, blacker than the blackness, if that were possible, out of the fogs, and the doctor stumbled up the steps, which could be discerned by the thread of light which formed a brilliantly bright line at the foot of the door. When the door itself opened, which it did in response to a triple knock by the Cheap-jack, such a flood of light poured out into the foggy gloom, that Browne was dazzled for the moment. When he entered, blinking his eyes, and the door was closed, he glanced round the interior of the caravan, and his gaze rested first on the sick woman, who was lying in a narrow bed at one end. Then Browne looked at the person who had opened the door, and beheld--Angus Herries. CHAPTER VII KIND'S OPINIONS "You!" cried the doctor, staggering back, and scarcely able to believe his eyes. "Good Lord, Herries!" "Yes! Herries," said the accused man, with a swift glance at the door to see that it was well-closed. "But don't speak too loud, my dear fellow, we never know what ears may be about." "Oh, we're safe enough here," remarked Kind, who was bending over his wife. "What with the mists, and the rain, and the cold, no one will venture out this night into so dismal a meadow. That peeler at the inn was half asleep when we came away." "You speak quite different to what you did," said Browne, puzzled. "I'm a detective for the time being," rejoined Kind, coolly, "and recall some of my decent lingo. When I'm a Cheap-jack again, I'll slip back into the Whitechapel vernacular. I've been an actor in my time, and know how to suit my language to my _rôle_ for the time being," and again he bent over his sleeping wife. "You here," muttered Browne taking Herries' hand, and devouring his thin, haggard face with his eyes, "I am glad, and yet----" he shook his head in a doubtful way, recalling his promise to Trent.