Wherever Van was, nothing could be done to secure him that night. He might be freezing somewhere in the snow.
However this might be, the Bradys knew that they could only make themselves comfortable for the night and wait for the morrow.
So they went into the farm house.
A cheery fire blazed on the hearth.
John Paine, the farmer, and his wife welcomed the detectives.
They were given seats by the fire and the housewife hustled about to get them something to eat.
The Bradys were soon toasting their frigid feet by the fire and listening to John Paine’s homely talk.
“I reckoned it ud be a pow’ful hard winter,” he said. “Everything p’inted that way.”
“How far are you from the next house?” asked Old King Brady.
“Summut of a mile, I reckon.”