‘Of Micky’s disappearing, do you mean?’ asked Miss Miller, really surprised and alarmed this time. ‘Why, what makes you think that?’
‘Because yesterday afternoon wasn’t the only time this last day or two that boy’s been seen haunting about the place,’ said Jane. ‘I saw him myself on Monday night—at least, a boy who came round to the side-door begging answered very much to the description of the one Tom Wright saw in the wood. I thought at the time that I’d never seen such a filthy little creature as he was, but I gave him a hunch of bread—I always say that’s good enough for them if they’re really hungry—and when he asked for something more I just banged the door in his face, and I took care to bolt it directly afterwards top and bottom. It was a good two hours before the usual time, but ever since my best umbrella was stolen I’ve been downright scared of tramps. But that isn’t all. The very next morning—yesterday morning that is—Mr. Brown saw that same boy or his twin brother lurking about near the garden-door, for all the world as if he was waiting for someone. He sent him to the rightabout pretty quick. The only pity is he didn’t do it for good and all, for I do believe it’s that boy that has led away poor Master Micky.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ said Miss Miller. ‘Whatever should he want Micky for?’
‘What do gipsies usually want children for?’ rejoined Jane. ‘Maybe it’s for the sake of a reward, or maybe they think they could train him to be useful. Master Micky’d make a grand acrobat, to judge from the way he turns coach-wheels.’
Gipsies and people who travelled with shows were closely connected in Jane’s mind.
‘But are there any gipsies about?’ asked Miss Miller.
‘Not the real Romanies, but plenty of the sort of vagabonds that call themselves gipsies,’ said Jane. ‘There’s a van of them in a field at Baddicomb at this very moment’—Baddicomb was a village about five miles off—‘and one and another of them have been wandering about the country-side up to no end of mischief. Why, Mr. Warne got his orchard robbed only yesterday by a boy that he says certainly doesn’t belong hereabouts, and that’s most likely one of them—most likely the very same that’s got hold of Master Micky.’
‘Well,’ said Miss Miller, ‘I think the best thing for me to do is to ride into Chudstone again, and suggest to the police that possibly the gipsies have got hold of the boy.’
Miss Miller said nothing about where she was going to either of her pupils. ‘If only I had not to give two music-lessons this afternoon I would have come back again to see how you are getting on,’ she said to Emmeline as she wheeled her bicycle out at the front door, ‘for I can’t bear not to be with you when you’re in such trouble. Anyhow, I shall ride over again after tea just to see what’s happening. I expect Micky will have turned up long before then,’ with which cheering prophecy, spoken with more confidence than she could altogether feel, she mounted her flashing machine and rode off.
Kitty had rushed away somewhere by herself as soon as she was free to do what she liked, and Emmeline felt lonely and helpless as she stood in the drive looking after her governess. There seemed nothing she could do.