“Roight, Ann,” said he. “Oi’ll hand him over if he comes my way. ’Od’s fish; Oi’d never wish a man worse than to come your way while you be in that humor!”
“I always have a mind to pay my own scores myself,” said Ann, viciously. “So do you, Ben. Take to the right, down towards the bridge, whilst I search in the bushes in front, yonder. There’s many a hiding-place there the fellow might have chosen, if ’tis true that he’s still on the watch.”
“Oons, Oi’ll not thwart thee. So here’s for the bridge. Thou’lt not give me a kiss before Oi go—eh, lass?”
“Dost think I’m in the mood for kissing?” retorted Ann, sharply.
And it was abundantly clear that she got rid of her too obtrusive admirer with the physical violence he professed to admire so much; for Tregenna heard a sort of scuffling going on, and then Ben’s tread and his voice were heard no more; but the door was opened, letting in a rush of cold air, and then slammed with great force.
Ann did not at once follow her admirer to take up her own allotted share in the search for the spy. Tregenna heard her somewhat heavy tread in the great kitchen, as if she were slowly pacing up and down at the end of the room near the fireplace.
Should he disclose himself to her, to this enigmatical woman with the calm manner and the fierce heart? Or should he wait and watch the course of events, hoping for a chance of escape?
As he put this question to himself, he heard a door open in the corridor above, and saw the glimmer of a rushlight reflected on the ceiling. The old woman who had received him and the brigadier on their previous visit to the farm had come out into the corridor and was moving slowly towards the back of the house. In a few moments she returned with a much quicker step, and coming to the head of the staircase, called, in an anxious whisper—
“Ann!”
From the kitchen, at that moment, there came the sound of the flinging down of something heavy, with a noise that echoed in the old rafters above.