"I am glad to oblige you, sir," answered the mayor, civilly, and so they parted.
By midday Mr. Rogers had reached Inglethorpe, and found the old cowman pottering about his farmyard. John looked with stolid indifference at the stranger.
"Noo; Mistress Perrient bean't here. Constables have took her to Hunstanton, to the justices."
"The constables!" cried the minister, in dismay. "When did they take her?"
"Two days agone, and left Jack Catlin in the house here to keep watch."
"Oh, then, friend," answered Mr. Rogers, "I have later news than yours. I know she rode into King's Lynn yester morning, and left her horse at Goodman Nobbs's, for you to fetch home."
John grinned and looked the questioner over, as if to measure how many lies it was safe to tell him.
"And we know further," continued Mr. Rogers, "that she rode away from Goodman Nobbs' as if she would return here, and methinks that grey pony I see in your shed yonder doth marvellously resemble the one I heard of her riding."
"Ay, ay," grinned John, "the poor beast knows his road home right well; he comes back to his stable like a Christian."
"Then we are afraid some accident may have befallen the gentlewoman," urged the minister; "if the horse came back without her, she may have fallen off, and be lying hurt somewhere."