United States or Algeria ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"They don't amount to much," Miss Belcher agreed, "but they don't, on the other hand, quite cover all my doubts. However, there's less doubt, luckily, about the next step to be taken. You send Hosken or some one to Torpoint Ferry to inquire what strangers have crossed for Plymouth during these forty-eight hours.
"I have, sir; all along the road, so far as Torpoint Ferry." "And you learnt enough to justify you in arresting him?" "Ample, y'r worship. There wasn't a public-house along the road but thought his behaviour highly peculiar. He's a well-known character, an' the questions he asks you would be surprised. He plies between Falmouth and Plymouth, sir, once a week regular.
"Get off, the pair of you. Friend indeed! Go and buy him a veil." But 'twas easily seen that Mrs. Polwhele couldn't be carried farther. So Sammy Hosking pulled up at a farmhouse a mile beyond St. Germans: and there she was unloaded, with her traps, and put straight to bed: and a farm-boy sent back to Torpoint to fetch a chaise for her as soon as she recovered.
So far as I know, nothing went wrong with them until they came to Torpoint Ferry: and there, on the Cornish side of the water, stood the Highflyer coach, the inside of it crammed full of parcels belonging to our Vicar's wife, Mrs. Polwhele, that always visited Plymouth once a year for a week's shopping. Having all these parcels to bring home, Mrs.
"But what put it into your head that he's a Frenchman?" "Because French is his language. With these very ears I heard him talk it! He joined the coach at Torpoint, and when I spoke him fair in honest English not a word could he answer me. Oh, Calvin, Calvin! what have I done a poor weak woman to be mixed up in these plots and invasions?"
He bowed again, and I left the room to fetch my bag of guineas. "You have had a dirty ride," I began on my return. "I have walked," he answered, lifting a muddy boot. "I beg you to pardon these." "What, from Torpoint Ferry? And in this weather? My faith, sir, you must be a famous pedestrian!"
A tearing long course it was to be, too, and pretty close on five miles: start from near-abouts where the training-ship lays now, down to a mark-boat somewheres off Torpoint, back, and finish off Saltash Quay.
I feel so certain of it that, as you see, my conscience allows me to warn you. In the first place, avoid the Torpoint Ferry. It will without doubt be watched. I should make for the docks, hide until night, and try to stow myself on shipboard. Secondly" he put out a hand and softly unfastened the coach door "I am going to leave you. Our friend Mr.
Whitmore in his deliberate voice. "The folks were discussing it at Torpoint Ferry as I crossed. There's, been a murder at Plymouth, either last night or this morning." "A murder? Who's the victim?" "An old Jew, living on the Barbican or thereabouts. My deal, is it not?" "What's his name?" "His name?" Mr. Whitmore seemed to be considering. "Wait a moment, or I shall misdeal."
But the news had flown before him, and fresh crowds gathered to watch him off. The post-boys knew . . . and they told the post-boys at the next stage, and the next Bodmin and Plymouth not to mention the boatmen at Torpoint Ferry.
Word Of The Day