"Here is the note, and
if you wish, John Peterby will drive you back to London with him."
"V'y, thank'ee sir,--'e shall that,--but you, now?" Mr. Shrig paused,
and, somewhat diffidently drew from his side pocket a very
business-like, brass-bound pistol, which he proffered to Barnabas,
"jest in case they should 'appen to come back, sir," said he.
But Barnabas laughingly declined it, and shook his chubby hand
instead.
"Vell," said Mr. Shrig, pocketing note and weapon, "you're true game,
sir, yes, game's your breed, and I only 'ope as you don't give me a
case--though good murder cases is few and far between, as I've told
you afore. Good-by, sir, and good luck."
So saying, Mr. Shrig nodded, touched the broad rim of his castor,
and strode away through the gathering shadows.
And when he was gone, and the sound of his going had died away in
the distance, Barnabas turned and swiftly retraced his steps; but
now he went with fists clenched, and head forward, as one very much
on the alert.
Evening was falling and the shadows were deepening apace, and as he
went, Barnabas kept ever in the shelter of the trees until he saw
before him once more, the desolate and crumbling barn of Oakshott.
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