One thing, and one only, seemed to engross most of his
attention, and that was Humphrey's mole. And he was ever prating of the
fortune it was sure to bring him.
"Lad," said Humphrey at last, when they had been two days in the town,
"if we are to come safely off we must be rid of him. The gumming up of
the horses' manes and the braiding of their tails have already made the
innkeeper look strangely at us. Had he not set it down as the trick of
some malicious groom, it had been worse for us. And I do fear the old
man's babbling tongue. I will sound him to see how much will content
him, and perchance from thy pouch and mine the sum may be made up."
Old Bartlemy was growing weary of his woman's dress, and weary of
hovering around Hugo in the assumed capacity of his nurse. He was not
in his apartment when Humphrey went to seek him, and further search
revealed the fact that he was not in the house. So, somewhat disturbed,
Humphrey went forth to find him, taking with him in his bosom Hugo's
pouch as well as his own. The inn where they were now stopping was the
White Horse in Lombard Street, and as Humphrey issued forth into the
street he knew not which way to turn.
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