lives, and there are cottages, too. I thought, perhaps, they'd gone to Mr. Malcolmson's."
"Well—and what about Philip Mortover? He went out, too, didn't he?"
"Yes, and not so long after they'd gone! He came in here, into this kitchen, and went to that cupboard in the corner. There's whisky and other stuff in there, but Aunt Janet had locked it up just before she went out and had put the key in her pocket—I saw her. When he found he couldn't get in, he swore awfully, and then he went and put on his leggings and a big coat and went off."
"Where's the nearest public-house?" asked Wedgwood.
"It's a good mile away, on the high-road between Harslow and Ruxton—the Drovers' Arms," replied Mattie. "High up on the moors—an awful wild spot. But there's a short cut from here. Then there's another between here and Netherwell—the Coach and Four. But that's further off."
"Well—so you were left alone?"
"Yes, and I didn't like it! There's noises in this old house when you're alone in it—queer noises—didn't I hear them, last night! However, I wasn't so frightened until eight o'clock came and went. They didn't come, and didn't come! And the man who was to come with the
