"No, sir," cried the fellow, shaking his head, "not a word."
"Is Sir Henry within?" inquired Blarden, throwing himself from the saddle.
"No, sir," replied the man.
"Not returned yet, eh?" asked Nicholas.
"Yes, sir, he did return, and he left again about ten minutes ago," responded the groom.
"And left no message for me, eh?" rejoined Blarden.
"There's a note, sir, on a scrap of paper, on the table in the hall, I forgot to mention," replied the man—"he wrote it in a hurry, with a pencil, sir."
Blarden strode into the hall, and easily discovered the document—a hurried scrawl, scarcely legible; it ran as follows:—
"Nothing yet—no trace—I half suspect they're lurking in the neighbourhood of the house. I must return to town—there are two places which I forgot to try. Meet me, if you can—say in the old Saint Columbkil; it's a deserted place, in the morning about ten or eleven o'clock.
"Henry Ashwoode."