"It is our man," he said. "It is Nicholson himself! To think of our
searching all London, these weeks past, and stumbling upon him
here."
The man stopped at the door, which was at once opened by the
landlord.
"All right, I suppose, landlord?" the man said, as he swung himself
from his horse.
"There is no one here except two young fellows, who look to me as
if they had spent their last penny in London, and were travelling
down home again."
He spoke in a lowered voice, but the words came plainly enough to
the ears of the listeners within. Another word or two was spoken,
and then the landlord took the horse and led it round to a stable
behind, while its rider entered the room. He stopped for a moment
at the open door of the taproom, and stared at the two young men,
who had just put on their hats again. They looked up carelessly,
and Harry said:
"Fine weather for this time of year."
The man replied by a grunt, and then passed on into the landlord's
private room.
"That is the fellow, sure enough, Charlie," Harry said, in a low
tone. "I thought your eyes might have deceived you, but I remember
his face well. Now what is to be done?"
"We won't lose sight of him again," Charlie said. "Though, if we
do, we shall know where to pick up his traces, for he evidently
frequents this place.
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