“Come along, Miss Patricia,” pleaded Orace. “It aint so bad—we don’t know ’e ever went dahn. Lemme tyke yer back, anjer can lie on the bed while I go explorin; an’ as soons ever I ears anythink I’ll come an tell ya.”
“No.”
She snapped out the word in a voice that was as clear and strong as a tocsin.
“There ain’t nothink——”
“There is,” said Patricia. Her hands closed fiercely on Orace’s shoulders. “There is. We’ve got to go on with the job. It’s up to us. It’s what he’d have wished—he wouldn’t have had any patience with our going home to weep in our corner and chuck in the towel and let the Tiger get away. If the Saint gave his life to get the Tiger, we can’t waste the sacrifice. Orace,” she said—“will you carry on with me?”
He only hesitated a moment; then she heard him suck in his breath.
“Yes, Miss Patricia,” said Orace. “I guess yer right—we carn’t let the Tiger get awy wiv it, and we carn’t let Mr. Templar ave gorn under fer nuffin. An fees gorn, I guess yer must inerit Orace, miss. I’m on.” He paused. “But adn’t we better get told uv Dr. Carn, miss? ’E’s a detective, really, Mr. Templar tole me, an ’e’s after the Tiger.”
“I suppose so. . . . We must hurry!”
They passed through the village, and Patricia set off up the hill at a raking pace, with Orace toiling gamely along just behind.
Carn’s cottage was in darkness, and the girl fairly flew to the front door and tugged at the bell furiously. She kept it up for a full minute, but no one answered, though they could hear the metallic clamour reverberating through the house.