So far as Nobby was concerned, as well as informing the police, we enlisted the sympathy of the Boy Scouts.  Also we engaged six rustics to perambulate the fair and cry the loss of the Sealyham for all to hear.  Information leading to his recovery would be rewarded with the sum of five pounds, while the crier to whom the communication was made would receive five more for himself.  Our six employees went about their work with a will, bellowing lustily.  Daphne and Jonah sat in the car, rejecting the luckless mongrels which were excitedly paraded before them, one after another, from the moment that our loss was made known.  The rest of us hunted in couples—­Adele with Berry, and Jill with me—­scouring the maze of temporary alleys and lanes and crooked quadrangles, till we knew them by heart.

The merry-go-rounds had stopped whirling, and the booths were being shrouded or dismantled, as Jill and I made our way to the car for the last time.

As we came up—­

“That you, Boy?” cried Daphne.  “Here’s a waggoner who thinks he saw Nobby being taken away.”

A little knot of men parted, and Jill and I thrust our way forward.

“Oi wouldden be sure,” said a deep rough voice, “but a was a lil white chap of a dog on en’ of a string.  ‘Twas a grume, simly, a-leadin’ ’im Brooch way.  An’ a didn’t want for to go, neither, for a stock toes in, a did, an’ collar was ’alf-way over ’ead.  Just come forth from The Three Bulls, Oi ‘ad, oop yonder o’ Bear Lane, an’ the toime were nigh three o’ the aafternoon.”

We questioned him closely, but he could tell us no more.

Slight as the clue was, it was infinitely better than none at all.  If it was indeed Nobby that the waggoner had seen, the thief was taking him out of the village, at least in the direction of White Ladies.  This was encouraging.  That any one making for the railway station would take the same road was a less pleasant reflection.

I took our informant’s name and address and those of the crier who had brought him to the car.  Then we dispensed some silver, and left for home.

Of Adele’s necklace we had heard nothing.

We determined to concentrate upon the recovery of the pearls upon the following day.

* * * * *

All through a wretched night the pitiful vacancy at the foot of my bed reminded me brutally of my loss.  My poor little dog—­where was he passing these dark hours?  How many more must drag their way along before the warm white ball lay curled again in the crook of my knees?  Had he rested there for the last time?  With a groan I thrust the thought from me, but always it returned, leering hideously.  Miserably I recited his qualities—­his love for me, his mettle, his beauty, his unfailing good humour....  What naughtiness there was in him seemed very precious.  Painfully I remembered his thousand pretty ways.  He had a trick of waving his little paws, when he was tired of begging....