And then Nadin came out.
“This way, if you please, Squire,” he said, touching his arm and leading him aside. “We are just starting to scour the hills, but—— “he broke off and did not say any more until he had drawn Clyne out of earshot.
Then, “It’s certain that they landed here,” he said, turning and facing him. “We know that, Squire. And I fancy that they are not far away. The holt is somewhere near, for it is here we lost the other fox. I’m pretty sure that if we search the hills for a few hours we’ll light on them. But that’s the long way. And damme!” vehemently, “there’s a short way if we are men and not mice.”
Clyne’s eyes gleamed.
“A short way?” he muttered. In spite of Nadin’s zeal the Manchester officer’s manner had more than once disgusted his patron. It had far from that effect now. The man might swear and welcome, be familiar, he what he pleased, if he would also act! If he would recover the child from the cruel hands that held it! His very bluntness and burliness and sufficiency gave hope. “A short way?” Clyne repeated.
Nadin struck his great fist into the other palm.
“Ay, a short way!” he answered. “There’s a witness here can tell us all we want if she will but speak. I am just from her. A woman who knows and can set us on the track if she chooses! And we’ll have but to ride to covert and take the fox.”
Clyne laid his hand on the other’s arm.
“Do you mean,” he asked huskily, struggling to keep hope within bounds, “that there is some one here—who knows where they are?”
“I do!” Nadin answered with an oath. “And knows where the child is. But she’ll not speak.”