“Certainly; I’ll get him to stay in.  But what do you want the cinders smoothed for?”

Hewitt smiled, and patted his host’s shoulder.  “I’ll explain all my tricks when the job’s done,” he said, and went out.

* * * * *

On the lane from Padfield to Sedby village stood the Plough beer-house, wherein J. Webb was licensed to sell by retail beer to be consumed on the premises or off, as the thirsty list.  Nancy Webb, with a very fine color, a very curly fringe, and a wide smiling mouth revealing a fine set of teeth, came to the bar at the summons of a stoutish old gentleman in spectacles who walked with a stick.

The stoutish old gentleman had a glass of bitter beer, and then said in the peculiarly quiet voice of a very deaf man:  “Can you tell me, if you please, the way into the main Catton road?”

“Down the lane, turn to the right at the cross-roads, then first to the left.”

The old gentleman waited with his hand to his ear for some few seconds after she had finished speaking, and then resumed in his whispering voice:  “I’m afraid I’m very deaf this morning.”  He fumbled in his pocket and produced a note-book and pencil.  “May I trouble you to write it down?  I’m so very deaf at times that I—­Thank you.”

The girl wrote the direction, and the old gentleman bade her good-morning and left.  All down the lane he walked slowly with his stick.  At the cross-roads he turned, put the stick under his arm, thrust his spectacles into his pocket, and strode away in the ordinary guise of Martin Hewitt.  He pulled out his note-book, examined Miss Webb’s direction very carefully, and then went off another way altogether, toward the Hare and Hounds.

Kentish lounged moodily in his bar.  “Well, my boy,” said Hewitt, “has Steggles wiped out the tracks?”

“Not yet; I haven’t told him.  But he’s somewhere about; I’ll tell him now.”

“No, don’t.  I don’t think we’ll have that done, after all.  I expect he’ll want to go out soon—­at any rate, some time during the day.  Let him go whenever he likes.  I’ll sit upstairs a bit in the club-room.”

“Very well.  But how do you know Steggles will be going out?”

“Well, he’s pretty restless after his lost protege, isn’t he?  I don’t suppose he’ll be able to remain idle long.”

“And about Crockett.  Do you give him up?”

“Oh, no!  Don’t you be impatient.  I can’t say I’m quite confident yet of laying hold of him—­the time is so short, you see—­but I think I shall at least have news for you by the evening.”

Hewitt sat in the club-room until the afternoon, taking his lunch there.  At length he saw, through the front window, Raggy Steggles walking down the road.  In an instant Hewitt was down-stairs and at the door.  The road bent eighty yards away, and as soon as Steggles passed the bend the detective hurried after him.