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Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin), 1862-1943

"and edited by R. Austin Freeman"

"
"Of course you would," she retorted bitterly. "A pretty face can muddle
any man's judgment."
She turned away abruptly to resume her pursuit, and I followed in
silence. The trail which we were following zigzagged through the
thickest part of the wood, but its devious windings eventually brought
us out on to an open space on the farther side. Here we at once
perceived traces of another kind. A litter of dirty rags, pieces of
paper, scraps of stale bread, bones and feathers, with hoof-marks, wheel
ruts, and the ashes of a large wood fire, pointed clearly to a gipsy
encampment recently broken up. I laid my hand on the heap of ashes, and
found it still warm, and on scattering it with my foot a layer of
glowing cinders appeared at the bottom.
"These people have only been gone an hour or two," I said. "It would be
well to have them followed without delay."
A gleam of hope shone on the drawn, white face as the bereaved mother
caught eagerly at my suggestion.
"Yes," she exclaimed breathlessly; "she may have bribed them to take him
away. Let us see which way they went."
We followed the wheel tracks down to the road, and found that they
turned towards London.


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