“All right,” said Willy Cameron. “We use that road, and get to the farm, and what then? Surrender?”
“Not on your life. We hide in the barn. That's all.”
“That's enough. They'll search the place, automatically. You're talking suicide, you know.”
But his mind was working rapidly. He was a country boy, and he knew barns. There would be other outbuildings, too, probably a number of them. The Germans always had plenty of them. And the information was too detailed to be put aside lightly.
“When does he think they will meet again?”
“That's the point,” Pink said eagerly. “The family has been all over the town this morning. It is going on a picnic, and he says those picnics of theirs last half the night. What he got from the noise they were making was that they were raising dust again, and something's on for to-night.”
“They'll leave somebody there. Their stock has to be looked after.”
“This fellow says they drop everything and go. The whole outfit. They're as busy raising an alibi as the other lot is raising the devil.”
But Willy Cameron was a Scot, and hard-headed.
“It looks too simple, Pink,” he said reflectively. He sat for some time, filling and lighting his pipe, and considering as he did so. He was older than Pink; not much, but he felt extremely mature and very responsible.