“Yes, it’s an echo, Aleck,” said Gilmore, sadly.
“But we could stop, and go on searching, sir,” cried Macey. “It’s such a pity to give up.”
“Only till daybreak, my lad,” said the doctor, sadly. “We can do no good here, and the risk is too great.”
Gilmore uttered a low sigh, and Macey a groan, as, after a little more hesitation, it was decided to go back to the town, and wait till the first dawn, when the search could be resumed.
“And, look here, my lads,” cried the miller; “all of you as can had better bring bill-hooks and sickles, for it’s bad going through these brambles, even by day.”
“And you, constables,” said the rector; “you are on duty along the roads. You will keep a sharp look-out.”
“Of course, sir, and we’ll communicate with the other men we meet from Lenby and Riby, and Dunthorpe. We shall find him, sir, never fear.”
The procession of lanterns was recommenced, but in the other direction now, and in utter despondency the doctor followed, keeping with the rector and his pupils, all trying in turn to suggest some solution of the mystery, but only for it to close in more darkly round them, in spite of all.
The police then left them at the spot where they had been encountered, and promised great things, in which nobody felt any faith; and at last, disheartened and weary, the churchyard was reached, and the men dismissed, all promising to be ready to go on at dawn. Then there was a good deal of opening of lanterns, the blowing out of candle and lamp, the closing of doors, and an unpleasant, fatty smell, which gradually dispersed as all the men departed but the miller.
“Hope, gentlemen,” he said, in his big voice, “you don’t think I hung back from helping you.”