She stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“Jus lookin rahnd, miss. ’E tole me wun or two plyces ta try. I’ll find ’im orlright—don chew worry.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said at once.
He shook his head.
“Carnt ave ya doin that. Fennything wuz ta appen to yer, ’e’d kill me.”
“Where do we go first?” she demanded, ignoring his reply.
“Where do I go fust?” he amended. “Well, I can tell ya that.”
He fished the Saint’s note out of his pocket and gave it to her. She read it through with growing apprehension. It had somehow failed to occur to her that he would automatically spend the time before evening in investigating the second possibility of the other Old House—the disused inn behind the village. That was where he must have gone. Perhaps he had been trapped there. . . .
“Come on,” she rapped, and led the way.