Old Man Coates had Belcher at a disadvantage, and, of course, availed himself of it, and had no difficulty in making a bargain which reduced the fugitive’s stock of ready money in a fearful degree.

At half-past nine, that night, “Old Calamity” was driven down to the side of the car by Coates’ own hands, and in a moment the old man was out of the wagon and the new owner was in it.  The horse, the moment Mr. Belcher took the reins, had a telegraphic communication concerning the kind of man who was behind him, and the nature of the task that lay before him, and struck off up the road toward Sevenoaks with a long, swinging trot that gave the driver a sense of being lifted at every stride.

It was a curious incident in the history of Mr. Belcher’s flight to Canada, which practically began when he leaped upon the deck of Pilot-Boat Number 10, that he desired to see every spot that had been connected with his previous life.  A more sensitive man would have shunned the scenes which had been associated with his prosperous and nominally respectable career, but he seemed possessed with a morbid desire to look once more upon the localities in which he had moved as king.

He had not once returned to Sevenoaks since he left the village for the metropolis; and although he was in bitter haste, with men near him in pursuit, he was determined to take the longer road to safety, in order to revisit the scene of his early enterprise and his first successes.  He knew that Old Calamity would take him to Sevenoaks in two hours, and that then the whole village would be in its first nap.  The road was familiar, and the night not too dark.  Dogs came out from farm-houses as he rattled by, and barked furiously.  He found a cow asleep in the road, and came near being upset by her.  He encountered one or two tramps, who tried to speak to him, but he flew on until the spires of the little town, where he had once held the supreme life, defined themselves against the sky, far up the river.  Here he brought his horse down to a walk.  The moment he was still, for he had not yet reached the roar of the falls, he became conscious that a wagon was following him in the distance.  Old Man Coates had not only sold him his horse, but he had sold his secret!

Old Calamity was once more put into a trot, and in ten minutes he was by the side of his mill.  Seeing the watchman in front, he pulled up, and, in a disguised voice, inquired the way to the hotel.  Having received a rough answer, he inquired of the man whose mill he was watching.

“I don’t know,” responded the man.  “It’s stopped now.  It was old Belcher’s once, but he’s gone up, they say.”