“Is there connection between the room above and the loft over the stable?”
“No possibility of it, my lord.”
“What did I tell you?” said Henderson, plucking up courage again. “This turmoil is utterly without foundation.”
“Dash it!” cried Armstrong with a gesture of impatience. “Will you take a man’s word for a thing you can prove in a moment? Get a ladder, Angus, and speel up through the hole the spy came out at. Take a torch, an’ if ye drop a lowe in the straw you’ll no’ be blamed for it by me. See if you can win your way through from the stables to the house.”
“Go at once, Angus,” commanded Traquair; then to the landlord, who showed signs of wishing to be elsewhere. “No; you stay here.”
“I’m feared th’ man wull set fire ta the place,” whined the landlord.
“Better be feared o’ the rope that will be round your neck if you have lied to us,” said the Earl grimly, and as he spoke they heard the tramp of the sentinel’s feet overhead.
“Is that you, Angus?” asked Traquair in an ordinary tone of voice. “Can you hear what I say?”
“Perfectly, ma lord. There’s a very cunnin’ trap ’tween th’ stable loft an’ this, that one would na hev foun’ in a hurry, but the thief left it open in his sudden flight.”
The lips of the landlord turned white, but he remained motionless, panting like a trapped animal, for the giant form of Armstrong stood with his back against the door, the only exit.