"Neither seen nor heard!" the girl answered. "They went—and they've never been back!"
Wedgwood turned and fastened the door again with his own hands, before following Mattie and her father and mother into a great kitchen, where a fire of logs roared up the chimney. And then he proved himself a practical man by making immediate preparations for food and drink—he had taken the precaution to bring a couple of bottles of whisky with him from the hotel at Netherwell, and he lost no time in administering liberal doses of it to his companions and himself—not before there was dire need, for Mrs. Patello was on the verge of exhaustion, and Mr. Patello was speechless with cold, and it was some time before either was in a fit state to hear any account of their daughter's doings. Wedgwood was in no hurry about that—he knew that nothing could be done while that storm lasted; he knew, too, that there was no chance whatever of either Levigne, or Janet Clagne, or Philip Mortover coming back that night. And he waited for news until his two companions had revived and become gradually thawed by the big fire: then he quietly asked Mattie to tell what had happened.
Mattie Patello was obviously as anxious to talk as Wedgwood—secretly—was to listen.
