"It is," he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries--"it is the
English Chemical Works on the dunes, which have caught fire. I am
hurrying to the Artillery Station to telegraph for the fire-engines;
but it will be useless. It will all be over in half an hour--by this
wind and after so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies."
And the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the
sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts.
Then, with a hurried salutation, he ran on.
Cornish and Mr. Wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the
banker was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. Before they had gone
far they perceived another man coming across the Dunes towards The
Hague. As he approached, Cornish recognized the man known as Uncle Ben.
He was shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly
belongings in a canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. The recognition
was apparently mutual; for Uncle Ben deviated from his path to come and
speak to them.
"It's me, mister," he said to Cornish, not disrespectfully. "And I
don't mind tellin' yer that I'm makin' myself scarce. That place is
gettin' a bit too hot for me. They're just pullin' it down and makin' a
bonfire of it. And if you or Mr. Roden goes there, they'll just take
and chuck yer on top of it--and that's God's truth. They're a rough lot
some of them, and they don't distinguish 'tween you and Mr.
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