Miles led the way over the wooden footbridge that spans the line a little way above the station. In three minutes they walked in the shadow of great trees. The high wall in front of them bent inwards, opening a wide mouth. Here were iron gates and lamps; and beyond, black forms and deep shadows, and the silence of sleeping trees. Without a word they passed through the gates into Bushey Park.
Miles chose the left side of the avenue, and led on under the spreading branches of the horse-chestnuts. Perhaps a furlong from the gates he stopped short, and confronted his companion.
'Here I will settle with you,' he said, sternly. 'Tell me what you want; or first, if you like, how you found me. For the last thing I remember of you, Jem Pound, is that I sacked you from our little concern—for murder.'
The man took a short step forward, and hissed back his retort:
'And the last thing I heard of you—was your sticking up the Mount Clarence bank, and taking five hundred ounces of gold! You were taken; but escaped the same night—with the swag. That's the last I heard of you—Ned Ryan—Ned the Ranger—Sundown!'
'I can hang you for that murder,' pursued Miles, as though he had not heard a word of this retort.
'Not without dragging yourself in after me, for life; which you'd find the worse half of the bargain! Now listen, Ned Ryan; I'll be plain with you. I can, and mean to, bleed you for that gold—for my fair share of it.'
'And this is what you want with me?' asked Miles, in a tone so low and yet so fierce that the confidence of Jem Pound was for an instant shaken.
'I want money; I'm desperate—starving!' he answered, his tone sinking for once into a whine.
'Starvation doesn't carry a man half round the world.'
'I was helped,' said Pound darkly.
'Who helped you?'
'All in good time, Sundown, old mate! Come, show me the colour of it first.'
Miles spread out his arms with a gesture that was candour itself.
'I have none to give you. I am cleaned out myself.'
'That's a lie!' cried Pound, with a savage oath.
Miles answered with cool contempt:
'Do you think a man clears out with five hundred ounces in his pockets? Do you think he could carry it ten miles, let alone two hundred?'
Jem Pound looked hard at the man who had been his captain in a life of crime. A trace of the old admiration and crude respect for a brilliant fearless leader, succeeded though this had been by years of bitter hatred, crept into his voice as he replied:
'You could! No one else! No other man could have escaped at all as you did. I don't know the thing you couldn't do!'
'Fool!' muttered Miles, half to himself.
'That's fool number two,' answered Pound angrily. 'Well, maybe I am one, maybe I'm not; anyhow I've done what a dozen traps have tried and failed, and I'll go on failing—until I help them: I've run you to earth, Ned Ryan!'
'Ah! Well, tell me how.'
'No, I heard a footstep just then; people are about.'
'A chance passer,' said Miles.
'You should have come with me. Walls are safe if you whisper; here there are no walls.'
'You are right. We have stuck to the most public part, though; follow me through here.'
They had been standing between two noble trees of the main avenue. This avenue, as all the world knows, is composed of nothing but horse chestnuts; but behind the front rank on either side are four lines of limes, forming to right and left of the great artery four minor parallel channels. Miles and his companion, turning inwards, crossed the soft sward of the minor avenues, and emerged on the more or less broken ground that expands southward to Hampton Wick. This tract is patched in places with low bracken, and dotted in others with young trees. It is streaked with converging paths—some worn by the heavy tread of men, others by the light feet of the deer, but all soft and grassy, and no more conspicuous than the delicate veins of a woman's hand.
They left the trees behind, and strode on heedlessly into the darkness. Their shins split the dew from the ferns; startled fawns rose in front of them and scampered swiftly out of sight, a momentary patch of grey upon the purple night.
'This will suit you,' said Miles, still striding aimlessly on. 'It is a good deal safer than houses here. Now for your story.'
He was careful as they walked to keep a few inches in the rear of Pound, who, for his part, never let his right hand stray from a certain sheath that hung from the belt under his coat: the two men had preserved these counter-precautions from the moment they quitted the lighted roads.
'It is soon told, though it makes me sweat to think of it—all but the end, and that was so mighty neat the rest's of no account,' Pound began, with a low laugh. 'Well, you turned me adrift, and I lived like a hunted dingo for very near a year. If I'd dared to risk it, I'd have blabbed on you quick enough; but there was no bait about Queen's evidence, and I daren't let on a word else—you may thank the devil for that, not me! Well, I had no money, but I got some work at the stations, though in such mortal terror that I daren't stay long in one place, until at last I got a shepherd's billet, with a hut where no one saw me from week's end to week's end. There I was safe, but in hell! I daren't lay down o' nights; when I did I couldn't sleep. I looked out o' the door twenty times a night to see if they were coming for me. I saw frightful things, and heard hellish sounds; I got the horrors without a drop o' liquor! You did all this, Ned Ryan—you did it all!'
