“Will this show you I’m serious?” she panted. “I’d hate to have to hurt you, Orace; but I will if you drive me to it. I’ve got to go.”
He waited without stirring for a long time. He could easily have grabbed her wrist and taken the gun from her, but it was the sob in her voice that stopped him.
“Orlright,” he said at last. “If it’ll myke it easier for yer. . . .”
She knew then that he feared the worst.
They hurried on down the hill. She remembered his limp and let him set the pace, but he managed to struggle on at a good jog-trot in spite of his lameness. They went through the village until the black bulk of the Old House loomed before them.
“Will ya lead the wy, miss, since yer ere? I dunno this plice too well.”
She took him round by the approach the Saint had used, but there was no need for the same caution, for the moon would not rise for another three hours. He stopped her at the door.
“Lemme go fust.”
He thrust her behind him and blocked the way by his greater strength and weight, and she had to obey. She heard him fumble in his pockets, and then he kicked open the door and at the same moment a beam of light stabbed down the passage from the electric torch in his hand.
“See them footmarks?” he whispered. “Men’s bin ’ere lytely, and I’ll betcha they wuz Tiger Cubs.”