When, with hands still tied, he scrambled with difficulty into his
saddle, they tied his legs together by a long rope under the pony's
belly, and, placing him in the centre of the escort, they started off
at a jog-trot in the direction of the town.
CHAPTER III.
A PURVEYOR OF NEWS.
Mr. Hobson gave his address at Duke Street, St. James's, a
lodging-house frequented by gentlemen from the neighbouring clubs. But
he was never there except asleep. There was nothing strange in this as
none of the occupants of the house were much there, except at
night-time--they lived at their clubs.
So, for all the landlady knew, did Mr. Hobson. But we know better. He
had no club, and his daily absence from breakfast--simply a cup of
coffee and a roll, which he took in the French fashion, early--till
late at night was to be accounted for by his constant presence at his
office or place of business, although it was both and neither. This
was in a little street off Bloomsbury, the first floor over a
newspaper shop.
Mr. Hobson passed here as an agent for a country paper. It was
supposed to be his business to collect and transmit news to his
principals at a large seaport town on the East Coast. These were days
before the present development of newspaper enterprise, when leading
provincial journals have their own London offices and a private wire.
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