CHAPTER XII--I FOLLOW A COVERED CART NEARLY TO MY DESTINATION.
At last I began to draw near, by reasonable stages, to the neighbourhood of Wakefield; and the name of Mr.Burchell Fenn came to the top in my memory.

This was the gentleman (the reader may remember) who made a trade of forwarding the escape of French prisoners.

How he did so: whether he had a sign-board, _Escapes forwarded_, _apply within_; what he charged for his services, or whether they were gratuitous and charitable, were all matters of which I was at once ignorant and extremely curious.
Thanks to my proficiency in English, and Mr.Romaine's bank-notes, I was getting on swimmingly without him; but the trouble was that I could not be easy till I had come to the bottom of these mysteries, and it was my difficulty that I knew nothing of him beyond the name.

I knew not his trade beyond that of Forwarder of Escapes--whether he lived in town or country, whether he were rich or poor, nor by what kind of address I was to gain his confidence.

It would have a very bad appearance to go along the highwayside asking after a man of whom I could give so scanty an account; and I should look like a fool, indeed, if I were to present myself at his door and find the police in occupation! The interest of the conundrum, however, tempted me, and I turned aside from my direct road to pass by Wakefield; kept my ears pricked, as I went, for any mention of his name, and relied for the rest on my good fortune.