So they forced their way into the house; her increased tremor and confusion serving only to confirm them in their suspicions.
"Not that we doubt your word in the least, Mrs. Sprowl,"—Ropes smiled sarcastically. "But of course you can't object to our searching the premises, for we're in the performance of a solemn dooty. Any whiskey in the house, widder?"
The obliging lady went to find a bottle. She was gone so long, however, that the visitors became impatient. Ropes accordingly stationed two of his men at the doors, and with the third went in pursuit of Mrs. Sprowl, whom they met coming down stairs.
"Keep your liquor up there, do ye?" said Ropes, significantly.
"I—I thought—" Mrs. Sprowl gasped for breath before she could proceed—"the master had some in his room. But I can't find it. You are at liberty to—to look in his room, if you wants to."
"Wal, it's our dooty to, I suppose. Meantime, you can be bringing the whiskey. Give some to the boys outside, then bring the bottle up to us. That's the way, Gad," said Silas, as she unwillingly obeyed; "allus be perlite to the sex, ye know."
"Sartin! allus!" said Gad.
It was evident these men fancied themselves polite.
"But he ain't here," said Silas, just glancing into Penn's room, "or else she wouldn't have been so willing for us to search. Le's begin at the top of the house, and look along down." They entered a low-roofed, empty garret. "As we can't perceed without the whiskey, we'll wait here. Meantime, I'll tell you what you wanted to know."
They sat down on a little old green chest, and Ropes, producing a plug of tobacco, gave his friend a bite, and took a bite himself.