Jack and I exchanged a look but said nothing. Our uncle still held the torch, and flashing it before him led the way out of the barn. We followed him, but my eyes I am afraid were over my shoulder. I saw Jean slip her own torch into the doctor's hand and then she ran after me.
"May I come too!" she whispered.
"Of course!" I said, "you're in command of the party—or ought to be!" and out we went together.
The farm yard made rough walking, and there seemed every excuse for my taking her arm and none for her objecting; nor did she.
"Who is this delightful, arbitrary old gentleman?" she asked in my ear.
"You never introduced me!"
"Our uncle," I murmured back. "Jack and I both have expectations so we've got to give him his head!"
I must say Sir Francis stage-managed our entrance into the Scollays' house very effectively. As he quietly opened the door, he got us all close behind him, exactly like a band of robbers, so that we trod on one another's heels down a yard or two of narrow passage. The Scollays were all seated round the kitchen table when our uncle's figure suddenly towered out of the gloom, his pistol covering Peter senior's head, and his voice thundering:
"Hands up!"
At the first command they simply gasped.
"Hands up or I fire!" thundered Sir Francis again, and up went every pair of hands, and what is more they stayed up.