“Have patience with me for a moment,” I returned. “I am not going to be mysterious for more than two or three questions. Please tell me whether you were in that shop or not.”
“I believe we were,” said the mother.
“Yes, certainly,” said the daughter.
“Did you buy anything?”
“No. We—” Miss Oldcastle began.
“Not a word more,” I exclaimed eagerly. “Come with me at once.”
“What DO you mean, Mr Walton?” said the mother, with a sort of cold indignation, while the daughter looked surprised, but said nothing.
“I beg your pardon for my impetuosity; but much is in your power at this moment. The son of one of my parishioners has come home in trouble. His father, Thomas Weir—”
“Ah!” said Mrs Oldcastle, in a tone considerably at strife with refinement. But I took no notice.
“His father will not believe his story. The lad thinks you were the ladies in serving whom he got into trouble. I am so confident he tells the truth, that I want Miss Oldcastle to be so kind as to accompany me to Weir’s house—”