"Why, I ain't got no objection to taking the gent's 'eels, if
that's all you ask, though mind ye, if ever I see such damned
onnat'ralness as this 'ere in all my days, why--drownd me!"
So, after some delay, I found the overcoat and purse (which
latter I thrust into the pocket ere wrapping the garment about
him), and lifting my still unconscious antagonist between us, we
started for the lane; which we eventually reached, with no little
labor and difficulty. Here, more by good fortune than anything
else, we presently stumbled upon a chaise and horses, drawn up in
the gloom of sheltering trees, in which we deposited our limp
burden as comfortably as might be, and where I made some shift to
tie up the gash in his brow.
"It would be a fine thing," said the Postilion moodily, as I, at
length, closed the chaise door, "it would be a nice thing if 'e
was to go a-dying."
"By the looks of him," said I, "he will be swearing your head off
in the next ten minutes or so."
Without another word the Postilion set the lanthorn back in its
socket, and swung himself into the saddle.
"Your best course would be to make for Tonbridge, bearing to the
right when you strike the high road."
The Postilion nodded, and, gathering up the reins, turned to
stare at me once more, while I stood in the gleam of the lanthorn.
"Well?" I inquired.
"Eyes," said he, rubbing his chin very hard, as one at a loss,
"eyes, i-dentical--nose, same--mouth, when not bloody, same
--'air, same--everything, same--Lord love me!"
"Pembry would be nearer," said I, "and the sooner he is between
the sheets the better."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Postilion with a slow nod, and drawing out
the word unduly, "and talking o' sheets and beds--what about my
second passenger? I started wi' two, and 'ere's only one--what
about Number Two what about--'er?"
"Her!" I repeated.
"'Er as was with 'im--Number One--'er what was a-quarrelling wi'
Number One all the way from London 'er as run away from Number
One into the wood, yonder, what about Number Two--'er?"
"Why, to be sure--I had forgotten her!"
"Forgotten?" repeated the Postilion, "Oh, Lord, yes!" and leaning
over, he winked one eye, very deliberately; "forgotten 'er--ah!
--to be sure--of course!" and he winked again.
"What do you mean?" I demanded, nettled by the fellow's manner.