"Well," continued Spurge. "Into the place he'd cleared out them boxes
went, and once they were all in he heaped the stones over 'em as natural
as they were before, and he kicked a lot o' small loose stones round
about and over the place where he'd been standing. And then the old
sinner let out a great groan as if something troubled him, and he fetched
a bottle out of his pocket and took a good pull at whatever was in it,
after which, gentlemen, he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and
groaned again. He'd had his bit of light on all that time, but he doused
it then, and after that he led the old pony away across the bit of moor
to the road, and presently in he gets and drives slowly away towards
Scarhaven. And so there was I, d'ye see, Mr. Copplestone, left, as it
were, sold guardian of--what?"
The three young men exchanged glances with each other while Spurge
refreshed himself with his fortified coffee, and their eyes asked similar
questions.
"Ah!" observed Copplestone at last. "You don't know what, Spurge? You
haven't examined one of those boxes?"
Spurge set his cup down and gave his questioner a knowing look.
"I'll tell you my line o' conduct, guv'nor," he said. "So certain sure
have I been that something 'ud come o' this business of hiding them boxes
and that something valuable is in 'em that I've taken partiklar care ever
since Chatfield planted 'em there that night never to set foot within a
dozen yards of 'em.
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