‘Dash ma wig,’ said the farmer, who had before spoken, ’that dangs all, the boy be daft and Mrs. Ally doant say nuthen—he be queer for sartain.’
Mrs. Ally said not a word, but gazed on her nephew with mute astonishment; she did not, however, attempt to remove the obnoxious paper. The agent having in this unexpected manner gained his point, called for wine and sat down with the curate, lawyer, etc. He had yet another object—to find Curly Tom, no easy matter, that worthy being by no means a welcome guest there; that he did come there sometimes, however, Lambert knew, for as long as no warrant was out against him, however bad his character, he could not be turned away from the inn when he paid his shot; he did not like openly to ask for such a character, but sat down trusting that when the ale made the farmers loquacious he should gain some clue to his whereabouts. Fortune seemed destined to be his friend in more than one way that evening. The sound of a pistol shot was heard in the road leading towards the seaport, which was some ten miles distant; and a few moments after, a burly seafaring man entered the tap-room, dragging after him, in his powerful grasp, a ruffianly ill-looking countryman; no other indeed than the man of all others Lambert wished most to see, viz: Curly Tom.
‘Cast your anchor there,’ said the seaman, ’and if you attempt to slip moorings, afore you’ve been over-hauled by the skipper, split my topsails but I’ll bring you up all standing with this barking iron,’ pressing the muzzle of a pistol to the fellow’s forehead.
‘Put up your pistol,’ said the fellow sullenly. ’I beant going to run; you’ve broke my head and dinged all the wind oot of ma body.’
‘What is the matter, my good man?’ said Mr. Lambert, coming forward. ’I am a magistrate, and can take your deposition.’