"No, he is not. We have found the gin, but some one has been before us. Theodore is not here."
"Perhaps he opened the trap himself," Jack suggested, although he knew that was most unlikely.
"Quite impossible," Mr. Barton responded. "Wait where you are, Jack. We are going to make a thorough search."
Jack sat down again, his mind in a whirl of confusion. Theodore gone! It was marvellous! At any rate, he had been released from the dreadful trap; there was comfort to be found in that thought, at least.
Meanwhile, Mr. Barton and the farmer were holding a consultation on the other side of the hedge. They had found the cruel gin, which had evidently been set to entrap a fox, should one be tempted to visit the hen's roost, with its teeth wide apart, bearing witness to the truth of Jack's story by the blood stains upon it. There were marks of nailed boots near the place, and the hedge had been broken down at the top, as though some heavy person had climbed it. One thing was certain, that Theodore was nowhere near; therefore, it seemed most probable that whoever had released him from the trap had conveyed him away by road.
"The poor boy must have suffered agonies," Mr. Barton said in a tremulous tone as he examined the gin. "What a ghastly instrument of torture it is! I thought it was illegal to set these things?"
The farmer said it was, but added that it was nevertheless often done by poultry-keepers.
The owner of the cottage was an old man, a bachelor, who lived alone—Peter Blake by name. Mr. Fry knew him well, but could not imagine why he was away from home, as he most evidently was.
"I do not see what more we can do," Mr. Barton said at length, with a sigh. "Theodore could not have freed himself from the gin; so whoever released him will doubtless see he has shelter for the night. Jack saw no one from the time he left here till he met us; but some one must have come by way of one of the cross-roads. That some one may have been driving, too, and would most likely take Theodore to Blackburn Farm. I think, Fry, our wisest plan will be to drive right home. It may be we shall find news of Theodore awaiting our return, even if he himself is not there. Let us start at once."
The farmer agreed to this plan. A few minutes later Boxer was again trotting towards Blackburn Farm. No doubt the old horse thought of his comfortable stable and supper of oats, for he exerted himself to trot his fastest, as though he had not already had a long journey that day.