“The horses?” I repeated sharply. “What of them? Speak, man!”
“Are gone!” he continued, leaning against the door post.
“Gone?” I cried incredulously. “Gone? Do you mean to tell me, man, that they could remove a dozen horses from the stable, from beneath your open windows, without you seeing them? You were drunk, you knaves!” I said fiercely.
“It is not true,” he answered sullenly, recovering his breath somewhat. “And for the stable, ’tis a wooden shed. They had removed the boards at back—and the stalls are empty. But that is not all. For Long Marsden——”
“Aye!” I cried impatiently. “What of him?”
“He had gone to see how they fared, and——”
“Is missing, too?”
“No,” he answered slowly; “he is not missing; but——”
“Where is he?” I cried, grasping the fellow’s arm so that he winced.
“In the stocks!” he replied.