“There was no need to search the stables, Mr. Buxton; our men were round the house before we entered. They have been watching the entrances since eight o’clock last night.”
Mr. Buxton felt bewildered. His instinct had been right, then, the night before.
“The party was followed from near Wrotham,” went on the magistrate. “The priest was with them then; and, we suppose, entered the house.”
“You suppose!” snapped the other. “What the devil do you mean by supposing? You have looked everywhere and cannot find him?”
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly, as he stood and stared at the angry man.
“And the roofs?” added Mr. Buxton sneeringly.
“They have been thoroughly searched.”
Then there is but one possible theory, he reflected. The lad is in the garden-house. And what if they search that?
“Then may I ask what you propose to destroy next, Mr. Graves?”
He saw that this tone was having its effect on the magistrate, who was but a half-hearted persecutor, with but feeble convictions and will, as he knew of old.