ABSTRACT
Without going back to the gipsies’ tents, or waiting the return of the chief officer, I imagined I might be able to gain intelligence of the driver of the buggy from some of the turnpike men, though I had not much faith in this class of persons since the time I had suspected Blore to be a lodger, or at least a favoured visitor, of the fat fellow at the pass into Monsal-Dale. But as I could lose nothing by the inquiry, I resolved to try. Turnpike-keepers, for one thing, have usually very good memories respecting horses and vehicles; and if I could trace either the horse or the buggy to an owner, it would be a great point gained.
