“Yes, I see her go up ta hill, ’bout eight it weer.”
“Did you see her come back?” asked Tom, eagerly.
“No, lad, no. I see Master Richard Glaire come along though,” said the big fellow, under the impression that that might act as a clue.
“Yes,” said Tom, bitterly. “I saw him, and again at about ten, talking to Sim Slee, and then the lads followed him up street, and he ran into the house.”
“Sim Slee!” said Joe, thinking. “We’ll ask him; but let’s go to the police.”
At the station no news could be heard, and as time went on, plenty of neighbours could be found to say that they had seen Daisy Banks go up the hill; and amongst these was the chattering old woman at the public-house. But no one had seen her return.
“Come along o’ me, lad,” said Joe Banks; and they strode up the hill, a heavy sense of dread gathering over each of the men, as they thought of the chalk pit, and the possibility of Daisy having fallen in, to lie there dead or dying, on the rough, hard blocks at the bottom.
The morning was bright and beautiful, and the sun made the dew-sprinkled strands and twigs glitter like gems; but to those who sought Daisy Banks, all seemed gloomy, and in spite of all his bitter feelings, Tom Podmore’s heart was terribly stirred within him, so that he uttered a wild cry when just at the top, and ran ahead to pick up something soaked and wet with the night dew.
“It’s her basket,” he cried.
Joe staggered, and seemed to turn sick; but recovering himself, he ran up to the younger man.