“That is perfectly certain,” said my uncle.  “There’s not a moment to be lost.  We must divide and search in different directions, unless we can get some clue as to where they have gone.”

“There’s only the one path out of the garden,” cried the landlord, leading the way.  “It opens out into this back lane, which leads up to the stables.  The other end of the lane goes out into the side road.”

The bright yellow glare from a stable lantern cut a ring suddenly from the darkness, and an ostler came lounging out of the yard.

“Who’s that?” cried the landlord.

“It’s me, master!  Bill Shields.”

“How long have you been there, Bill?”

“Well, master, I’ve been in an’ out of the stables this hour back.  We can’t pack in another ‘orse, and there’s no use tryin’.  I daren’t ’ardly give them their feed, for, if they was to thicken out just ever so little—­”

“See here, Bill.  Be careful how you answer, for a mistake may cost you your place.  Have you seen any one pass down the lane?”

“There was a feller in a rabbit-skin cap some time ago.  ’E was loiterin’ about until I asked ’im what ’is business was, for I didn’t care about the looks of ’im, or the way that ‘e was peepin’ in at the windows.  I turned the stable lantern on to ’im, but ’e ducked ‘is face, an’ I could only swear to ’is red ’ead.”

I cast a quick glance at my uncle, and I saw that the shadow had deepened upon his face.

“What became of him?” he asked.

“‘E slouched away, sir, an’ I saw the last of ’im.”

“You’ve seen no one else?  You didn’t, for example, see a woman and a man pass down the lane together?”

“No, sir.”

“Or hear anything unusual?”

“Why, now that you mention it, sir, I did ‘ear somethin’; but on a night like this, when all these London blades are in the village—­”

“What was it, then?” cried my uncle, impatiently.

“Well, sir, it was a kind of a cry out yonder as if some one ’ad got ‘imself into trouble.  I thought, maybe, two sparks were fightin’, and I took no partic’lar notice.”

“Where did it come from?”

“From the side road, yonder.”

“Was it distant?”

“No, sir; I should say it didn’t come from more’n two hundred yards.”

“A single cry?”

“Well, it was a kind of screech, sir, and then I ’eard somebody drivin’ very ’ard down the road.  I remember thinking that it was strange that any one should be driving away from Crawley on a great night like this.”

My uncle seized the lantern from the fellow’s hand, and we all trooped behind him down the lane.  At the further end the road cut it across at right angles.  Down this my uncle hastened, but his search was not a long one, for the glaring light fell suddenly upon something which brought a groan to my lips and a bitter curse to those of Jem Belcher.  Along the white surface of the dusty highway there was drawn a long smear of crimson, while beside this ominous stain there lay a murderous little pocket-bludgeon, such as Warr had described in the morning.