"Of course I can." "Indeed! where?" said the stranger, eagerly. "In some churchyard, to be sure, gobbling up the dead bodies." With this Mrs. Chillingworth shut the door with a bang that nearly
flattened the Hungarian's nose with his face, and he was fain to walk
away, quite convinced that there was no information to be had in that
quarter. He returned to the inn, and having told the landlord that he would give
a handsome reward to any one who would discover to him the retreat of
Sir Francis Varney, he shut himself up in an apartment alone, and was
busy for a time in writing letters. Although the sum which the stranger offered was an indefinite one, the
landlord mentioned the matter across the bar to several persons; but all
of them shook their heads, believing it to be a very perilous adventure
indeed to have anything to do with so troublesome a subject as Sir
Francis Varney. As the day advanced, however, a young lad presented
himself, and asked to see the gentleman who had been inquiring for
Varney. The landlord severely questioned and cross-questioned him, with the hope
of discovering if he had any information: but the boy was quite
obdurate, and would speak to no one but the person who had offered the
reward, so that mine host was compelled to introduce him to the
Hungarian nobleman, who, as yet, had neither eaten nor drunk in the
house. The boy wore upon his countenance the very expression of juvenile
cunning, and when the stranger asked him if he really was in possession
of any information concerning the retreat of Sir Francis Varney, he
said,--

"I can tell you where he is, but what are you going to give?" "What sum do you require?" said the stranger. "A whole half-crown." "It is your's; and, if your information prove correct, come to-morrow,
and I'll add another to it, always provided, likewise, you keep the
secret from any one else." "Trust me for that," said the boy. "I live with my grandmother; she's
precious old, and has got a cottage. We sell milk and cakes, sticky
stuff, and pennywinkles." "A goodly collection. Go on." "Well, sir, this morning, there comes a man in with a bottle, and he
buys a bottle full of milk and a loaf. I saw him, and I knew it was
Varney, the vampyre." "You followed him?" "Of course I did, sir; and he's staying at the house that's to let down
the lane, round the corner, by Mr. Biggs's, and past Lee's garden,
leaving old Slaney's stacks on your right hand, and so cutting on till
you come to Grants's meadow, when you'll see old Madhunter a brick-field
staring of you in the face; and, arter that--"

"Peace--peace!--you shall yourself conduct me. Come to this place at
sunset; be secret, and, probably, ten times the reward you have already
received may be yours," said the stranger. "What, ten half-crowns?" "Yes, I will keep my word with you." "What a go! I know what I'll do. I'll set up as a show man, and what a
glorious treat it will be, to peep through one of the holes all day
myself, and get somebody to pull the strings up and down, and when I'm
tired of that, I can blaze away upon the trumpet like one o'clock. I
think I see me. Here you sees the Duke of Marlborough a whopping of
everybody, and here you see the Frenchmen flying about like parched peas
in a sifter." CHAPTER LXXXIV. THE EXCITED POPULACE.--VARNEY HUNTED.--THE PLACE OF REFUGE. [Illustration]

There seemed, now a complete lull in the proceedings as connected with
Varney, the vampyre. We have reason to believe that the executioner who
had been as solicitous as Varney to obtain undisputed possession of
Bannerworth Hall, has fallen a victim to the indiscriminating rage of
the mob. Varney himself is a fugitive, and bound by the most solemn ties
to Charles Holland, not only to communicate to him such particulars of
the past, as will bring satisfaction to his mind, but to abstain from
any act which, for the future, shall exercise a disastrous influence
upon the happiness of Flora. The doctor and the admiral, with Henry, had betaken themselves from the
Hall as we had recorded, and, in due time, reached the cottage where
Flora and her mother had found a temporary refuge. Mrs. Bannerworth was up; but Flora was sleeping, and, although the
tidings they had to tell were of a curious and mixed nature, they would
not have her disturbed to listen to them. And, likewise, they were rather pleased than otherwise, since they knew
not exactly what had become of Charles Holland, to think that they would
probably be spared the necessity of saying they could not account for
his absence. That he had gone upon some expedition, probably dangerous, and so one
which he did not wish to communicate the particulars of to his friends,
lest they should make a strong attempt to dissuade him from it, they
were induced to believe. But yet they had that confidence in his courage and active intellectual
resources, to believe that he would come through it unscathed, and,
probably, shortly show himself at the cottage. In this hope they were not disappointed, for in about two hours Charles
made his appearance; but, until he began to be questioned concerning his
absence by the admiral, he scarcely considered the kind of dilemma he
had put himself into by the promise of secrecy he had given to Varney,
and was a little puzzled to think how much he might tell, and how much
he was bound in honour to conceal. "Avast there!" cried the admiral; "what's become of your tongue,
Charles? You've been on some cruize, I'll be bound. Haul over the ship's
books, and tell us what's happened." "I have been upon an adventure," said Charles, "which I hope will be
productive of beneficial results to us all; but, the fact is, I have
made a promise, perhaps incautiously, that I will not communicate what I
know." "Whew!" said the admiral, "that's awkward; but, however, if a man said
under sealed instructions, there's an end of it. I remember when I was
off Candia once---"

"Ha!" interposed Jack, "that was the time you tumbled over the blessed
binnacle, all in consequence of taking too much Madeira. I remember it,
too--it's an out and out good story, that 'ere. You took a rope's end,
you know, and laid into the bowsprit; and, says you, 'Get up, you
lubber,' says you, all the while a thinking, I supposes, as it was long
Jack Ingram, the carpenter's mate, laying asleep. What a lark!" "This scoundrel will be the death of me," said the admiral; "there isn't
one word of truth in what he says. I never got drunk in all my life, as
everybody knows. Jack, affairs are getting serious between you and I--we
must part, and for good. It's a good many times that I've told you
you've forgot the difference between the quarter-deck and the caboose. Now, I'm serious--you're off the ship's books, and there's an end of
you." "Very good," said Jack; "I'm willing I'll leave you. Do you think I want
to keep you any longer?