Ben looked incredulous. “He could have me took off. He’d put a sack over me head, and—”
“Oh, would he? And what do you suppose I should do if anyone walked in and tried to put a sack over your head?”
“What?” asked Ben, round-eyed.
“Put a sack over his head, of course, and hand him to the nearest constable.”
“You would!” Ben drew an audible breath.
“Certainly I would. Does he come here often?”
“N-no. Leastways, I dunno. After it’s dark, he comes. I dunno how many times. Onct, there was two on ’em. I woke up, and heard them, talking to me dad.”
“What were they talking about?”
Ben shook his head. “I didn’t hear nothing but just voices. I got right under me blanket, ’cos I knew it was Kirn.”
By this time it seemed fairly certain to John that the gatekeeper’s disappearance was connected in some way with Ben’s mysterious bugbear; and it seemed still more certain that he was engaged upon nefarious business. What this might be John had not the remotest conjecture, and it was plainly useless to question Ben further. He got up, saying: “Well, it’s high time you were under your blanket again. If anyone shouts gate, I’ll attend to it, so you show me where your dad’s bed is, and then be off to your own.”