"
"Then what was he doing in these parts?"
"He started to call on my father, sir."
"Eh? You knew of his coming?"
"Yes, sir. We planned it together."
Mr. Rogers, still on his knees, leaned back and regarded me fixedly.
"You planned it together?" he repeated slowly. "Well, go on.
He started to call on your father? Why?"
"He wanted to show my father something," said I, with a glance at Mr.
Goodfellow. "Are you sure, sir, there's nothing in his pockets?"
"Not a penny-piece. I'll search 'em again if you insist, though I
don't like the job."
"He carried it in his breast-pocket, sir; there, on the left side."
"Then your question's easy to answer." Mr. Rogers turned back the
lapel and pointed. The pocket hung inside out. "But what was it he
carried?"
I hesitated, with another glance towards Mr. Goodfellow, who at the
same moment uttered a cry and sprang for a thicket of brambles
directly behind Mr. Rogers's back. Mr. Rogers leapt up, with an
oath.
"No, you don't!" he threatened, preparing to spring in pursuit.
But Mr. Goodfellow, not heeding him, plunged a hand among the
brambles and drew forth a walking-stick of ebony, carved in rings,
ending with a ferrule in an iron spike--Captain Coffin's
walking-stick.
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