“’Don’t think me inhospitable, Challoner, but if you aren’t going to stay the night you had better be going.  And don’t go by Gad’s Hill.  Take the road down to Higham and catch the train there.’

“‘Why, what is the matter with Gad’s Hill?’ I asked.

“’Nothing much by daylight, but a great deal at night.  It has always been an unsafe spot and is especially just now.  There has been quite an epidemic of highway robberies lately.  They began when the hoppers were here last autumn, but some of those East-end ruffians seem to have settled in the neighborhood.  I have seen some very queer-looking characters even in this village; aliens, apparently, of the kind that you see about Stepney and Whitechapel.

“’Now, you get down to Higham, like a good fellow, before the country settles down for the night.’

“Needless to say, the prowling alien had no terrors for me, but as Grayson was really uneasy, I made no demur and took my leave almost immediately.  But I did not make directly for Higham.  The moon was up and the village looked very inviting.  Tree and chimney-stack, thatched roof and gable-end cut pleasant shapes of black against the clear sky, and patches of silvery light fell athwart the road on wooden palings and weather-boarded fronts.  I strolled along the little street, carrying the now light and empty bag and exchanging greetings with scattered villagers, until I came to the lane that turns down towards the London Road.  Here, by a triangular patch of green, I halted and mechanically looked at my watch, holding it up in the moonlight.  I was about to replace it when a voice asked: 

“‘What’s the right time, mister?’

“I looked up sharply.  The man who had spoken was sitting on the bank under the hedge and in such deep shadow that I had not noticed him.  Nor could I see much of him now, though I observed that he seemed to be taking some kind of refreshment; but the voice was not a Kentish voice, nor even an English one; it seemed to engraft an unfamiliar, guttural accent on the dialect of East London.

“I told the man the time and asked him if the road—­pointing to the ridgway—­would take me to Higham.  Of course I knew it would not and I have no very distinct idea why I asked.  But he answered promptly enough, ‘Yus.  Straight down the road.  Was you wantin’ to get to the station?’

“I replied that I was, and he added, ’You go straight down the road a mile and a half and you’ll see the station right in front of you.’

“Now, here was a palpable misdirection.  Obviously intentional, too, for the circumstantiality excluded the idea of a mistake.  He was deliberately sending me—­an ostensible stranger—­along a solitary side-road that led into the heart of the country.  With what object?  I had very little doubt, and that doubt should soon be set at rest.