“It appears to be a pretty successful one,” said Dr. Glasson.  “I’ve discovered you, anyhow; and now I suggest to you that swearing won’t help the reckoning between us.”

“Oh, stow your fine talk!  I’ve heard of sea-lawyers, and I suppose you’re a canal specimen.  Carriage was paid at the other end, and you know it.  I catch you here loafing, and I’m going to dispute the bill—­ which means that you’ll get the sack, my friend, whether I recover the money or no.  Pounds out of pocket I am by this, not to speak of reputation.  Where are they?  Where have you put ’em?”

“That’s what I’ll trouble you to answer, sir.”

“My hosses! . . .  You don’t mean to tell me—­” Mr. Gavel smote his brow.  “But you said just now you were looking for me!” he cried.

“You act well, sir,” said Dr. Glasson sternly.  “It is your profession.  But, as it happens, I have made inquiries along the canal, and am proof against your bluster.  A boat, the Success to Commerce—­a bargeman in a furred overcoat—­the combination is unusual, and not (I put it to you) likely to be repeated on this short stretch of waterway.  Confess, Mr.—­ confess, sir, your game is up.  Kidnapping is an ugly offence in this country, and, in short, I advise you without more ado to hand over the two children.”

Mr. Gavel leaned back against a crane for support.

“Children?  What children?” he repeated, staring.

Clearly here was some hideous blunder, and he perceived at length that the person addressing him in no way resembled a bargee.

“But—­but my hosses?” he gasped.

Just then the sound of wheels fell on his ears, and both men faced about.  Mr. Gavel made sure that this must be old Holly with his wagon.  But no; there came around the corner a cart with a single horse, driven by a lad; and the lad, pulling up before the store, went in, and in less than a minute reappeared staggering under a heavy burden.

“But, Hallo!” cried Mr. Gavel, pulling himself together, and striding towards the cart.  “It is—­” he began incredulously; but after a second look raised his voice in triumphant recognition and demand.  “My hosses!  What are you doing with my hosses?”

“Yours, be they?” the lad answered.  “Well, I’m takin’ ’em to Henley, as you sent word.”

“I sent word?” echoed Mr. Gavel.

“Somebody sent word,” the lad persisted.  “An’ in the devil of a ’urry, ‘cordin’ to the child what brought it.  But, as I said to mother, where’s the sense in sendin’ messages by children?”

“Children?”

“There was two on ’em—­a boy an’ a girl—­”

“Ah!” interrupted Dr. Glasson.  “Describe them, please.”

The lad scratched his head.

“Mother took the message.  I was indoors, havin’ tea, an’ didn’ see more ’n a glimpse.  But here comes father,” he added briskly, as again wheels were heard on the road, and old Holly drove into the yard with his belated wagon.