A curious rustling noise was heard, and, active as a young man, Dan’l ran back to the top of the ladder and descended quickly.
“Well ’tain’t me as is skeart now,” said Peter triumphantly.
Just then there was a sharp clap from somewhere in front, as if a small trap-door had been suddenly closed, and Dan’l’s voice came up through the boards.
“Look out!” he shouted, and his voice sounded distant. “There’s some one up in the far loft there. He tried to get down into one of the hay-racks, but I frightened him back.”
“Stop there!” said the doctor. “We’ll soon see who it is. Go on, Peter, and open that door. That young larder thief for a guinea, my dear,” he continued to Helen, as Peter went on in advance.
“Door’s nailed up, sir,” said the latter worthy, as he reached the old door, and held the lanthorn up and down.
“How came it nailed up?” said the doctor, as he examined the place. “It has no business to be. Go and get an iron chisel or a crowbar. Are you there, Daniel?”
“Yes, sir,” came from below. “I’m on the look-out. It’s that there young poacher chap, Bob Dimsted.”
Peter set the lanthorn on the floor and hurried off, leaving the little party watching and listening till he returned, but not a sound broke the silence, and there was nothing to see but the old worm-eaten wood and blackened tiles.
“I’ve brought both, sir,” said Peter breathlessly, and all eagerness now, for he was ashamed of his fright.