"Yes, sir."
The police sergeant moved off.
"Then I may look for you at the Hawk and Heron?" he said.
Hugh Ritson heard all. He kept the lantern down. In the darkness not a face of that group was seen of any man.
A quarter of an hour later, Hugh Ritson, panting for breath, was knocking at the door of the inn. The landlady within fumbled with the iron bar behind it.
"Come, quick!" said Hugh.
The door opened, and he stepped in sharply, bathed in perspiration.
"Is your son back?" he said, catching his breath.
"Back, sir? No, sir; it's a mercy if he gets home afore morning, sir; he's noways—"
"Stop your clatter. The girl is in her room. Go and turn the key on her!"