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CHAPTER XVI.
JOSIAH'S ASTONISHMENT AT THE EFFECT PRODUCED BY THE DISPLAY OF HIS TREASURE-TROVE

Josiah Trenow had been in constant attendance on Frederick Morley, ever since the accident. It may appear strange that a young man so strong and brave as Morley, and who had seen so much service abroad, and been engaged in the most dangerous sports that can possibly be pursued, should have been so entirely prostrated by this accident; but so it was.

It was Josiah's strong arm that had lifted him up from his perilous position on the cliffs; and, for many days, he did not feel safe unless that strong arm was near, to be thrown round him when the terrible thought of his perilous situation seized him; and Josiah was beginning to like his young master – for such he seemed now to have become, without any formal agreement having been entered into between them.

While his young master was at Penzance attending the ball, Josiah went to the mine where he had been working, to put things straight, and to see the captain, and get another man put in his place; for Morley had asked him to remain with him until he was obliged to join his regiment again – which would not be for some time, as he had obtained an extension of leave, in consequence of the accident, and the strong certificate sent to head-quarters from the surgeon who attended him. He had remained at "The First and Last Inn," at Sennen, ever since, – partly to be near his friend Fowler, and partly because he fancied the removal to another place might cause a return of those dreadful feelings of nervous terror which he had now in a measure overcome.

On the morning after his return from Penzance, Josiah came into his master's room, after breakfast, carrying a small box under his arm, which appeared to be very heavy, and, placing it on the table, he said,

"I've got something here, sar, that I do want you to see. I picked 'n up in the sand after the wreck, an' I oppened om, an' wor frightened sure 'nuff."

"Frightened at opening a small box!" said Morley, smiling; "I thought your nerves were stronger, Josiah."

"You shall see for yourself," returned Josiah. And he proceeded to take out the screws with which the box was fastened, when, to Morley's utter astonishment, he saw that the box was filled to the brim with Indian gold coins, and, in one corner of the box, closely packed down, there was a piece of thick white writing-paper, neatly folded up.

"There, sar," said Josiah; "es et any wonder that I shud be frightened?"

"No, indeed!" said his master, taking up a few of the coins, and examining them; "there must be many thousands of pounds in this little box. Why, you're a lucky man, Josiah. And you consider these all your own, of course, according to the doctrine of all Cornish wreckers?"

"No, I don't sar," replied Josiah; "but I caen't tell whose they are, – I wish I cud. I b'lieve that paper wud tell, ef so be that I cud read 'n; but I caen't read writen', f'rall I can read prent, ef they're brave an' big letters. I carr'd that paper up to Maister Freeman, but I dedn't car' up the box, – no fie! Ef you had seed his face when he looked 'pon the paper fust, you'd never forgit 'n no more. 'Twor whisht sure 'nuf."

"Well, what did he say?" asked Morley, who felt more interested in hearing something about the conjuror, who had so nearly caused his death, than curiosity as to the contents of the paper.

"Say?" exclaimed Josiah; "why, nothen' for a bra' bit. He read 'n down twice, quite study, like, an' then aw looked up 'pon me, like one startled, an' folded up the paper. An' then he said, 'Josiah,' says he to me, 'I can't make this out 'less I do see the box that 'twor in; bring et to me at once,' says he. ''Tes an unlucky thing for you to keep in your house,' says he; 'your pigs will die, and, maybe, you'll all be laid down, and rise no more,' says he. 'Bring the box, and all the contents, within one hour,' says he, 'or else you are all doomed,' says he. An' weth that he wor goen' for to put the paper in his pocket; but I catched 'n by the arm, and made 'n screech ten thousand murders, an' drop the paper, an' I very soon picked 'n up agen. An' then he tore to me, an' tried for to catch the paper agen; but I wor too quick for 'n, an' I tripped 'n up weth my toe, an' left 'n lyin' 'pon the planchen'; and then I trapesed away down ste-ars. I reckon the maid Alice Ann wor frightened too; for I b'lieve in my conscience she wor harken' outside the door, – for I nearly knacked har down, poor soul, but I cudn't stop to see."

"Let me see the paper," said Morley, who was now as anxious to see it, as he had been indifferent before.

So Josiah took it out, and unfolded it very carefully; and if he had been astonished to see the strange appearance of Mr. Freeman's countenance when he perused that paper, he was perfectly astounded now, to see the effect the perusal of it was producing on Mr. Morley; and he began to think that the box and all it contained were bewitched, as Mr. Freeman had said, and he entertained serious thoughts of carrying it down to the cliffs and throwing it over. At length, Mr. Morley, having finished the perusal of the paper for the third time, leaned his elbows on the table, supporting his head with his hands, in which he still clutched the paper, and sobbed aloud; for his nerves were still too weak to bear up against any sudden shock without giving vent to his feelings.

Josiah stood looking at his master and the box alternately, having a confused idea of a shipwreck and a man and horse falling over cliff, with a box of gold tied to them as a weight to pull them down. At last Mr. Morley recovered sufficiently to see that Josiah was looking bewildered; so he thought it right to read the paper to him, which did not, however, enlighten him very much till further explanation was given.

The mysterious paper contained these words: —

"I, Alexander Morley, on my dying bed, enjoin my two sons, William and Frederick Morley, to make the strictest search for those two wretches, who committed the murder, of which I was accused, and to use all possible means to bring them to justice, or to induce them to confess their crime, that my bones may rest in peace. The contents of this box to be used in the prosecution thereof.

"Alexander Morley."

"Well," said Josiah, "I ar'n't much furder footh, I think." And he looked at his master with a vacant stare. Mr. Morley, therefore, thought it best to entrust this faithful and honest man with the whole circumstances relative to the murder, which made him stare more than ever; but it was not a vacant stare now.

"You must let me take this paper, Josiah," said Mr. Morley; "and perhaps I had better take care of the box also, for the present."

"By all mains, sar," said Josiah; "for, putting this and that together, 'tes surely your father's box, and sent here for a wise purpose."

"This accident has brought many sad reflections into my mind, Josiah," replied Mr. Morley. "I cannot now have any doubt of the fate of my poor brother. He was, no doubt, bringing this valued box home, that we might proceed together in the search. He is gone; but Providence has thrown this box in my way, as a powerful incentive to use my utmost exertions, single-handed, to perform the task allotted to my brother and myself by our poor father."

"You sha-ant go by yourself, sar," said Josiah; "I'll help 'ee as far as I can, ef you'll lev me to."

"You shall," replied his master. "I am indebted to you for my life, and for the discovery of this box, so that our destinies seem blended together, in an unaccountable manner. You shall not go unrewarded, I assure you. We will use this money, as it is ordered, in searching for the guilty parties."

"Zackly like that," returned Josiah; "an' ef I wor you I wud ax Maister Freeman. Whether et wor his conjuring knawledge, or what, I caen't tell; but semmen' to me I thoft he knawed somethen'."

"No, no," replied Morley; "it was the wish to get the gold into his possession that made him look so odd. He is avaricious, and he thought to frighten you into the foolish act of bringing the box to him, when he would either have kept it altogether, or have taken a large toll out of it."

"Well, sar," said Josiah, "I'll allow you for to knaw best; but ef I wor you, I'd see Maister Freeman; – he might look to his books an' tell 'ee somethen' more than you do knaw now."

This seemed very good advice; for, even if Mr. Freeman knew nothing, Frederick thought he should at least see the conjuror in his "sanctum," as he was going to him on business, and he might have a chance of seeing Alrina, whom he had not met for several days; for she did not keep her last appointment with him two days before the ball, and he feared she might be ill, or might have been prevented by some lynx-eyed Duenna, as she had been before, when he blamed her without cause. So, for all these reasons, Frederick determined he would visit the lion in his den, and make him divulge all he knew respecting the contents of that paper, if indeed he knew anything – which, however, the unhappy young man very much doubted.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE BORROWED FEATHERS OF THE PEACOCK FAIL TO CONCEAL ENTIRELY THE NATURAL PLUMAGE OF THE JACKDAW

The strange gentleman who had caused such a sensation at the ball, and who called himself "Mr. Smith," continued to reside at the hotel, at Penzance, in a style which evinced great wealth, and perhaps rank, as the inhabitants generally thought; so he was called on by most of the aristocracy of the neighbourhood, and invited to dine at their houses. He frequently rode out to the Logan Rock, or Lamorna cliffs, where he met Miss Pendray – sometimes by appointment, and sometimes by accident. She seemed quite fascinated with the mysterious stranger, and would meet him in the roughest weather, and wander with him over the cliffs, while he related to her tales of romance and horror, which delighted and fascinated her; and she would look into his face, and allow him to hold her hand, as they sat side by side on the rocks, while he poured into her willing ear those tales she so delighted to listen to, – and by degrees he blended, almost imperceptibly at first, his own feelings with the more romantic scenes which he depicted so well, and shadowed forth, at length, in vague but unmistakeable language, his love and admiration of the beautiful creature by his side, until the majestic Maud was subdued into a mere mortal and received his protestations and vows of love and constancy, and returned them as fully and freely and confidingly as her sister, the gentle and innocent Blanche, would have done to him she loved above all others on earth. But, although he was always so ready and anxious to meet Miss Pendray out of doors, he avoided going to her father's house. She would frequently ask him the reason of this, but he would never satisfy her. On one occasion, after an unusually tender and protracted meeting on the cluster of rocks surrounding the Logan Rock, when he thought he had gained sufficient power over her, he asked her to elope with him; at which she was at first highly indignant. She drew herself up instantly to her full dignity, and, looking down with scorn on her lover, while her eyes flashed with indignation, she said,

"Do you take me for a silly school-girl, that you presume to make such a proposition to me? No, sir! while I reside under my father's roof, it must be from his hands, and from his house, that I must be claimed and taken, if at all."

"Nay," exclaimed her companion, in the greatest alarm and humiliation; "I meant not to offend you. My life has been one of romance from my childhood, and I thought you possessed the same romantic ideas, but in a loftier, and, I perceive, more chivalrous, form. Pardon me. The anticipation of the possession of a jewel so valuable, dazzled and disordered my brain, and I feared its loss, if left to others to decide; your father might refuse his consent, and a thousand things might happen in the delay, to deprive me of the possession of her on whom my happiness and life depend. But your wishes shall be as commands to me; – it shall be done methodically, and in as businesslike a manner as other poor mortals perform the same ordeal: I will ask your honoured father, who will doubtless give us his blessing: we will go to the parish church and be united, as the Cornish clodhoppers are accustomed to be, and have a quiet dinner, and after tea we will jog into Penzance, and spend the honeymoon in some comfortable lodgings. Let me go now, and speak to the good squire," continued he, taking her hand, and kneeling on the grass at her feet.

"Oh! Mr. Smith," she said, relenting a little; "you have drawn a very rustic picture truly of the marriage ceremony. The one great event in woman's life should be a little more brilliant and exciting than that, certainly."

"Yes, yes," said he, rising and kissing her hand; "I knew you would not be satisfied with a humdrum marriage, and so I went, perhaps, a little too far the other way."

"Oh! Mr. Smith," she said, turning from him, and covering her eyes with one hand, while he retained the other, "I am afraid I am doing wrong, even now. I ought not to be here, – I know I ought not, and yet – "

"Do not speak thus, dearest Maud," said he; "you know my devoted attachment to you, and my admiration of your noble character, and the beauties of your mind and person. Your majestic and dignified form, and the brilliancy of your eyes, attracted my attention when I entered the ball-room at Penzance, and – "

"Allow me to remind you," replied Miss Pendray, rather haughtily, "that I do not like gross flattery; it is repugnant to my nature; I cannot endure it."

These expressions were uttered abruptly and incautiously, and the fair lady was aware immediately that she had said too much; but she was so much accustomed to have her own way at home, and to be treated with the greatest deference and respect by all, and was moreover so conscious of her own perfections, that any plain allusion to them was quite repulsive to her; it was not the first time that this mysterious stranger had mixed up a little vulgarity, as she deemed it, with his more refined conversation, and interesting and romantic tales. She did not quite understand him even now. She had never before taken him up so sharply, although she had often wished to do so; but she feared to wound his feelings. She had now, in the excitement of the moment, expressed her thoughts more fully than she intended, and she felt sorry, and would have given worlds to recall those last expressions. She was relieved, however, from her embarrassment on that account; for, just at that moment, as she turned to reassure him, a gentlemanly looking man suddenly emerged from behind one of those lofty rocks at a little distance from where the lovers were standing, and approached towards them. Miss Pendray's back was turned towards the intruder, so that she did not notice his approach; but, as she was about to speak to her companion, she saw such a terrified, horrible expression come over his countenance, as he gazed at the gentleman who was now rapidly approaching them, that she turned round instinctively to see what it was that had so absorbed his attention, when she found herself almost face to face with the stranger, as he jumped down from a rock near her. She uttered a little shriek at the suddenness of the surprise, but immediately recovered herself sufficiently to take a hasty glance at his personal appearance, before he spoke; for he was a remarkable looking man. He was considerably above the middle height, strongly built, and robust. His hair was almost white, although, from his fresh complexion and general appearance, he was evidently still a young man – perhaps scarcely forty. His face was tanned with the sun, as if he had lived long in a warm climate. He had the appearance of a gentleman, and, from his manners, he evidently was one.

"I beg your pardon, madam," he said, "for thus intruding on you. I assure you it was quite unintentional. I was searching for Lieut. Fowler. His men, at the station, told me he was out on the coast, near by, somewhere; and, as I wished to see him, I thought I would take a stroll, with the chance of falling in with him, rather than wait indoors this beautiful morning."

"Pray don't apologize," replied Miss Pendray; "I often meet Lieut. Fowler on the cliffs, and this is not at all an unlikely place to meet with him."

"Thank you," said the stranger; and, taking off his hat to the lady, he passed on in search of the lieutenant, while Miss Pendray turned round towards Mr. Smith, whom she expected to find recovered by this time from the shock, or whatever it was, that made him look so odd, and prevented him, as she thought, from speaking to the intruder, who was now out of sight. But where was Mr. Smith? He was nowhere to be seen. She looked all round, and climbed to the topmost rock, but could see no trace of him. It was very odd, she thought; and that demoniacal look haunted her. What could it mean? Did he know that stranger, and fear him for some reason? No, that could scarcely be; for he evidently saw Mr. Smith, but he showed no signs of recognition. She knew not what to think. What did she know of Mr. Smith? Who was he? Where did he come from? He was comparatively a stranger to her. These were questions which she now began to ask herself, as she walked slowly home; and she now began to think that she had acted wrong, in meeting a mere stranger so often, clandestinely, and allowing herself to be led away by his fascinating conversation, after knowing him little more than a fortnight. These reflections smoothed and softened her naturally bold and daring spirit, and, instead of feeling a wish now to soar to the top of the loftiest rocks and cliffs, and look danger in the face without shrinking, she felt subdued and melancholy, and instinctively took the path which led down towards Lamorna Cove – the spot so loved and admired by her gentle sister.

Here she met Blanche and Lieut. Fowler searching for some rare shells on the beach, to whom she recounted her adventure with the strange gentleman with the white hair, but she did not mention the other in whom she was more interested.

Lieut. Fowler knew no such person, he said, as Miss Pendray described. Perhaps it was some inspecting officer. He could not have come on duty, however, for in that case he would have been in uniform. But whoever it was, he thought he had better go and see him; so he took leave of the two sisters, and walked away in the direction of the signal-station at Tol-pedn-Penwith, wondering who his strange visitor could be.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BIRDS HAVE TAKEN FLIGHT

Frederick Morley determined on going to Mr. Freeman's house, and taking a copy of that document with him, when he hoped to be able to induce the "man of cunning" to tell him what he knew relative to the contents of that paper which Josiah had found in the box; for Josiah seemed so convinced of his being able to enlighten his master, that he was beginning himself to feel that the visit might turn out more successful and satisfactory than he at first imagined.

"I'll go weth 'ee, sar," said Josiah; "an' ef we caen't, both of es, make 'n tell, why 'twill be whisht sure nuf. I'll maul 'n brave ef aw don't tell everything; for I'm sure, semmen to me, that he wudn't look like that there, ef he dedn't knaw somethen'."

"No, no, Josiah," replied his master; "we must not resort to personal violence. You shall go with me, for you know him, – I do not, – and we shall soon see by his manner what he knows, although I have my doubts, still, as to his real knowledge of anything connected with this affair. It is his object to pretend to know more than he really does, in order to mislead ignorant people; and he thereby induces them to communicate enough to enable him to guess at the rest, – and so he gets credit for a vast amount of prescience more than he really possesses."

As they walked on slowly towards St. Just, on their important errand, Morley's mind was filled with various thoughts and conjectures, all of the greatest moment to him. He might now be on the point of having his great secret unravelled, or at least of gaining some intelligence respecting it, and he was about to see Alrina's father, and perhaps herself. He should now also know the reason why she had not kept her last appointment with him. All these serious reflections passing through his mind, made him silent. It was likely to be an eventful day for him. What Josiah's thoughts were we do not know – our little bird is silent on that point. Perhaps he was also thinking of his Alice Ann; but this thought did not seem to disturb him. His love was not quite so ardent, perhaps, as his master's, or his love might probably be running more smoothly; for he disturbed the air now and then by whistling snatches of some old song or country jig, shewing thereby to his companion, if he felt any interest in knowing the fact, that his faithful attendant's thoughts didn't trouble him much. At length, after a weary walk, though not by any means a long one, they arrived at the verge of the village; and now Josiah took the lead, as he knew every house and almost every stone in the place. The village was very quiet, for most of the men were out at their work – some at the mine, and others at their little farms – while the women were busy indoors, cleaning up a bit, and preparing the men's dinners.

They passed the "Commercial" Hotel, which seemed to be taking its morning nap, and reposing its dignity in the sun, which was shining brightly on its whitewashed walls, and looking in at the windows, and stretching itself, as far as it could, in at the open door, making the fine sand, with which the passage was strewed, sparkle again. The stable-door was shut, – all was quiet there. Poor Mr. Brown's occupation was gone. Morley shuddered as he thought of the beautiful mare; but they passed on in silence until they arrived at the further end of the village, when Josiah stopped opposite a neat looking farm-house, and, after a few minutes' reflection, exclaimed,

"Dash my buttons! why they're gone, to be sure."

This expression, which was said in an excited tone, recalled Morley from his reverie, and, looking up, he saw that the house they were standing opposite, seemed to be deserted and shut up. The window-shutters were all closed, and the garden-gate was locked.

"That's unlucky, if this is the house," said Morley; "but they may not be gone far. Let us enquire somewhere."

"Zackly like that," replied Josiah, in a sort of bewildered manner, while he led the way to a cottage at a little distance off, which he entered very unceremoniously, bidding his master to follow him.

"Where's 'The Maister' gone?" said he, addressing an elderly woman, who was up to her elbows in soapsuds, washing at a small washtub.

"Your sarvant, sar," said Mrs. Trenow, wiping the soapsuds from her hands and arms, without noticing her son's question.

"Set down, sar, ef you plaise," said Josiah, placing a chair for his master; for he saw that he was fatigued. "Mother es like somethen' that's very good to eat when 'tes boiled sometimes," continued Josiah; "she don't always go foreright when she's wanted to."

"Areah, then," said his mother; "the world es come to a purty pass, when cheldern do begin for to taich their mothers manners."

"Hush, mother," said Josiah, laughing, and slapping the old lady on the back. "How are 'ee, thon? I ha'n't seed 'ee for a bra' bit."

"No fie, you ha'n't," replied Mrs. Trenow. "He's gone, cheeld vean, an' joy go weth 'n, says I."

"You are speaking of Mr. Freeman, I presume," said Mr. Morley. "I came here almost on purpose to see him, and we found the house shut up. Can you give us any information respecting his movements?"

"No, sar, I caen't," replied Mrs. Trenow. "About a week ago, or so – I caen't tell to a day – Miss Freeman (that's 'The Maister's' sister, sar) told Alice Ann (that's the maid, sar) that she might have a holiday in the afternoon; an' glad enough the maid wor to have her holiday, I can assure 'ee, sar. Well, she went out and stayed away till brave an' late in the evenin', an' she went home thinkin' she shud have a bra' scold for stayin' out so long; but when she came to the gate, she found it all fastened up, an' the winder-shutters up, an' the house looking quite whisht like."

"That's very strange," said Morley; "but where are they gone?"

"That's the very thing, sar," replied Mrs. Trenow. "'Where are they gone?' says you; and 'where are they gone?' says everybody, 'ceps Mrs. Brown, – she don't say nothin'. The maid's clothes wor left there for har, an' that's all she'll tell."

"Thank you, Mrs. Trenow," said Morley; "I think we must ask Mrs. Brown, Josiah."

"I b'lieve we must, sar," replied Josiah, thoughtfully. "Where's Alice Ann, thon, mother; she esn't gone after them, I s'pose?"

"No, no; she's up to har aunt's stopping a bit. Har fe-a-ther an' mother do live a bra' way off, you knaw."

"Now, I'll tell 'ee, sar," said Josiah; "you go up to Mrs. Brown's an' knaw all you can, an' I'll go down an' see what Alice Ann have got to say, – an', between es, we may find out somethen'."

"Quite right, Josiah," returned his master, "that is a very good plan." And each of them went his way on a voyage of discovery.

Mrs. Brown was laying the cloth for the midday meal when Morley entered, and her husband was sitting in the chimney-corner. The old lady was overjoyed to see her visitor, and, running towards him, she took his hand in both hers, and kissed it, saying, —

"I am glad to see you once more, Mr. Morley. It was a miraculous escape; an' I hope it will be a warnin' to you, not to risk your life agen at the biddin' of a rogue an' a fool."

"My dear Mrs. Brown," replied Morley, "it was a narrow escape; but the beautiful mare is gone! What does Mr. Brown do, without his Jessie mare?"

"The name of the mare roused Mr. Brown from his lethargy, and, coming out of his corner, he said, —

"Where's my hat, Peggy? I'm goin' to get Jessie mare out, for the gentleman to try her a bit before to-morrow. Come, sir. Wo! ho! Jessie; wo! ho. Come, Polly! Poll! Poll! Polly! Where's that maid gone, Peggy. Billy, boy, come an' saddle the mare."

His hat, which was on his head, shone as brightly as ever, but his internal brightness was gone. He never recovered the shock of seeing his mare fall over the cliff, and the narrow escape of its rider. It was very true he hadn't much to lose, poor man, intellectually. His one idea was centred in the mare, and they both went together. He wandered in and out of the house continually, and, as he didn't interfere with others, no one interfered with him.

"Poor man," said Mr. Morley, looking after him.

"It's a blessin', Mr. Morley," said Mrs. Brown, "that the mare es gone. She was no use here; and she was eatin' her head off, as the sayin' is. What is, is best, I b'lieve."

"My errand to St. Just," said Morley, "was principally to see Mr. Freeman, and I find he's gone away."

"Iss, he's gone, an' joy go weth 'n," replied Mrs. Brown.

"Where is he gone," said Morley; "do you know?"

"All I do knaw es this," replied Mrs. Brown. "He came here about ten days ago, an' said he wor goin' to take his daughter for a little trip, as she dedn't seem well, – she was so low-spirited, he said, – and he asked me to take care of the maid Alice Ann's clothes for har, untel she came back; for p'raps she wud be back before they wud. I thought they wor goin' to Scilly, p'raps, or to Truro. And away they went, and Alice Ann came for har clothes the next day. She dedn't go. Where they're gone, I can no more tell than you can."

"That's very strange; I wish I knew where they were gone," replied Morley, thoughtfully.

"You may wish agen, I b'lieve," returned Mrs. Brown; "he'll turn up again one day, like a poor penny. Come, sir, have a snack weth us; we're just going to dinner."

So poor Mr. Brown was called in, and the three sat down to a nicely seasoned beef-steak pie, which Morley enjoyed very much after his walk, notwithstanding his disappointment.

Josiah gained very little more information than his master. Alice Ann told him that, for several days before they left, her young mistress, Alrina, was confined to her room. She seemed drowsy, like, the girl said, and didn't care to move nor to speak.

"I do b'lieve, Siah," said she, speaking in a half whisper, "that she had some doctor's trade gov to har for to put har to slaip, – I do, sure nuf; and they took har away in a post-chaise while she wor slaipen'."

Morley thought that if he could find where the post-chaise came from, he might, by bribing and questioning the postboy, gain some clue to their probable destination; – for, in addition to his anxiety to see Mr. Freeman, which was now confirmed more than ever, he was doubly anxious for the safety of Alrina, whom he was convinced her father and aunt were persecuting – perhaps on his account, but why, he could not imagine; for he was not aware that Alrina's relatives knew of his attachment to her, or that he had ever met her. He little knew the resources of the "man of cunning" for obtaining information of what took place in that neighbourhood. He left a hasty note for his friend Fowler, stating that he was unexpectedly called away on important business; and, taking Josiah with him in the combined capacity of companion, assistant, and valet, he proceeded on his travels in search of the fugitives.