"Is yer faither in?" enquired Geordie quietly, hardly able to control the raging anger in his heart.
"No, he's no' in," replied the girl. "Oh, is that you, Geordie?" she asked, recognizing him in the darkness. "My father said when he went oot that if ye cam' to the door, I was to tell ye he had nae places yet."
"That's a' richt," said Geordie, still very quietly. "Do ye ken onything aboot where he is this nicht?"
"No, unless he's up in Sanny Robertson's, or maybe in Peter Fleming's."
"Thank ye," said Geordie, turning away, "I'll go up an' see if he is there."
He knew that Peter Fleming was working that night, and had stopped on an extra shift to repair a road, by special instructions from Walker; so Geordie went direct to Fleming's house and knocked at the door. After an interval a woman's voice enquired, "Wha's that?" and Geordie thought there was anxiety in it.
"Open the door," said Geordie quietly. "What the hell are ye afert for?" and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work, immediately opened the door.
"You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing who the intruder was, she tried to shut the door.
"Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want to see Black Jock."
"He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her voice.