SECURE as I tried to feel in my change of costume, my cropped hair, and
my whiskerless cheeks, I kept well away from the coach-window, when the
dinner at the inn was over and the passengers were called to take their
places again. Thus far--thanks to the strength of my grasp on his
neck, which had left him too weak to be an outside passenger--Screw had
certainly not seen me; and, if I played my cards properly, there was no
reason why he should see me before we got to our destination.

Throughout the rest of the journey I observed the strictest caution, and
fortune seconded my efforts. It was dark when we got to Shrewsbury. On
leaving the coach I was enabled, under cover of the night, to keep a
sharp watch on the proceedings of Screw and his Bow Street ally. They
did not put up at the hotel, but walked away to a public house. There,
my clerical character obliged me to leave them at the door.

I returned to the hotel, to make inquiries about conveyances.

The answers informed me that Crickgelly was a little fishing-village,
and that there was no coach direct to it, but that two coaches running
to two small Welsh towns situated at nearly equal distances from my
destination, on either side of it, would pass through Shrewsbury
the next morning. The waiter added, that I could book a
place--conditionally--by either of these vehicles; and that, as they
were always well-filled, I had better be quick in making my choice
between them. Matters had now arrived at such a pass, that nothing was
left for me but to trust to chance. If I waited till the morning to see
whether Screw and the Bow Street runner traveled in my direction, and to
find out, in case they did, which coach they took, I should be running
the risk of losing a place for myself, and so delaying my journey for
another day. This was not to be thought of. I told the waiter to book me
a place in which coach he pleased. The two were called respectively The
Humming Bee, and The Red Cross Knight. The waiter chose the latter.