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The police would turn up long before the brig appeared Dougal had thought that would not be till high tide, between four and five and the only danger would be to the pirates. The three watchers would be put in the bag, and the men from the sea would walk into a neat trap. This reflection seemed to take all the colour out of Heritage's prospect.
The man had got a swinging blow and might have a slight concussion; for the present he was unconscious. "All the more reason why we should flit," said Dougal. "What d'ye say, Mr. McCunn?" "Flit, of course, but further than the old Tower. What's the time?" He lifted Heritage's wrist and saw from his watch that it was half-past three. "Mercy. It's nearly morning.
There Heritage's music waxed peculiarly loud. Presently from the yard, unshaven and looking as if he had slept in this clothes, came Dobson the innkeeper. "Good morning," said the poet. "I hope the sickness in your house is on the mend?" "Thank ye, it's no worse," was the reply, but in the man's heavy face there was little civility. His small grey eyes searched their faces.
It will be a good steadier for Heritage's nerves, and the electric light is the best light of all for this business. If you have got a few yards of spare flex from your reading-lamp I'll rig the thing up without troubling your electrician. I can attach it to your study lamp." "I've got what you want," David said. "Now come in to breakfast."
Why can't the TUNICATUS POPELLUS keep away from a paradise like this!" Dickson, a democrat who felt nothing incongruous in the presence of other holiday-makers, was meditating a sharp rejoinder, when Mr. Heritage's tone changed. "Ye gods! What a village!" he cried, as they turned a corner.
And if he did there would be his exposed hinder-parts inviting a shot from some malevolent gentleman among the trees. He reflected that he would give a large sum of money to be out of this preposterous adventure. Heritage's hand was stretched towards him, containing two of Mrs. Morran's jellied scones, of which the Poet had been wise enough to bring a supply in his pocket.
As for the watchers, they must have ceased to suspect him, when they discovered the innocent contents of his knapsack and Mrs. Morran's box. Home for him, and a luxurious tea by his own fireside; and then an evening with his books, for Heritage's nonsense had stimulated his literary fervour. He would dip into his old favourites again to confirm his faith.
When they were alone, Heritage's voice took a different key. "We're in for it, Dogson, old man. There's no doubt these three scoundrels expect reinforcements at any moment, and with them will be one who is the devil incarnate. He's the only thing on earth that that brave girl fears. It seems he is in love with her and has pestered her for years.
Heritage's breath stopped, but Dougal was ready, and froze into a motionless blur in the shadow of a hazel bush. Then he crawled very fast into the hollow where Leon had been sitting, seized something which looked like a bottle, and scrambled back to the ridge. At the top he waved the object, whatever it was, but Heritage could not reply, for Dobson happened to be looking towards the window.
Dougal seemed to be searching for adequate words. "She is..." he began. Then a popular song gave him inspiration. "She's pure as the lully in the dell!" In no way discomposed by Heritage's fierce interrogatory air, he continued: "She's either foreign or English, for she couldn't understand what I said, and I could make nothing o' her clippit tongue.
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