八三看书

第8章（第1页）

he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in

which there were a few smith’s tools, a couple of torches, and a

tinderbox. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the

coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which did

occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep

the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with

tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.

“Tom!” softly over the coach-roof.

“Hallo, Joe.”

“Did you hear the message?”

“I did, Joe.”

“What did you make of it, Tom?”

“Nothing at all, Joe.”

“That’s a coincidence, too,” the guard mused, “for I made the

same of it myself.”

Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted

meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud

from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might