“Take time, my dear boy, and think,” said the rector.
“But I can’t think, sir, of anything,” cried Macey. “No. Unless—”
“Yes,” cried the doctor; “unless what?”
“He was going to Lenby, you say.”
“Yes.”
“Well, mightn’t he have stopped there?”
“No, no, my boy,” cried the doctor, in disappointed tones, as Gilmore came in, and directly after Distin, both looking wonderingly round. “We sent there.”
“Then I don’t know,” said Macey, anxiously. “He might have gone over the bit of moor though.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “he could have gone that way.”
“Well, sir, mightn’t he have been caught among the brambles, or lost his way?”