He squared up a moment and made a mock of boxing Dollops which seemed to please the audience.

“That’s the stuff, that’s the stuff, matey!” called out a raw-boned man who up to the present had remained silent.  “You’re the man for us, I ses!  An’ the little ’un, too.”

“Reckon I can give you a taste of fightin’ that’ll please you,” remarked Borkins in a low voice.  “Yes, Mainer’s right.  You’re the man for us....  Good-night, all.  Time’s up.  I’m off.”

“Good-night,” chorused a score of voices, while the fat barmaid blew a kiss off the tips of her stubby fingers, and called out after him:  “Come again soon, dearie.”

Cleek looked at Dollops, and both realized the importance of getting back to the Towers before the arrival of Borkins, in case that worthy should think (as was far from unlikely) of spying on their movements, and checking up on Cleek’s progress in letter writing.  It was going to require some quick work.

“Well, Sammy, better be movin’ back to our shelterin’ roof an’ all the comforts of ’ome,” began Cleek almost at once, and gulping down the last of his fourth tankard and slouching over to the doorway.  A chorus of voices stopped him.

“Where you sleepin’?”

“Under the ’aystack about ’arf a mile from ’ere,” replied Cleek glibly and at a venture.

The barmaid’s brows knitted into a frown.

“’Aystack?” she repeated.  “There ain’t no ’aystack along this road from ’ere to Fetchworth.  Bit orf the track, ain’t yer?”

Cleek retrieved himself at once.

“Ain’t there?  Well, wot if there ain’t?  The place wot I calls a ‘aystack—­an’ wot Lunnoners calls a ’aystack too—­is the nearest bit of shelter wot comes your way.  Manner of speakin’, that’s all.”

“Oh!  Then I reckon you means the barn about a quarter of a mile up the road toward the village?” The barmaid smiled again.

“That’s it.  Good-night.”

“Good night,” chorused the hoarse voices.

The night outside was as black as a pocket.

“Better cut along by the fields, Dollops,” whispered Cleek as they took to their heels up the rough road.  “Got to pass him.  This mist will help us.  That was a near shave about the haystack.  I nearly tripped us up there.  Awful creature, that woman!”

“Looks like a jelly-fish come loose,” threw in Dollops with a snort.  “There’s ole Borkins, sir, straight ahead.  ’Ere—­in through this gap in this edge and then across the field by the side of ’im....  Weren’t such a rough night after all, was it, sir?”

Cleek sighed.  One might almost have thought that he regretted the fact.

“No, Dollops,” he said, softly, “it was the calmest night of its kind I’ve ever experienced.  But we’ve gleaned something from it.  But what the devil has Borkins got to do with this factory?  What ever it is he’s in it right up to the neck, and we’ll have to dig around him pretty carefully.  You’ll help me, Dollops, won’t you?  Can’t do without you, you know.”