"Mr. Wentworth," said Sir Edward gravely; "I am sorry to say that your presence is urgently needed at the Manor. The village policeman has called to report that there has been trouble between your men and the villagers. Perhaps you know that your establishment is for some reason regarded with deep suspicion in the village? Anyhow, it comes to this: that the two men who came here with you have disappeared into the Manor taking with them a youth called Myers as a kind of hostage. He was throwing stones and I have no doubt he deserved all he got. But the excitement in the village is intense, because your men--doubtless in self-defense--drew their scimitars and marched Master Bobby off under an armed guard. The village is convinced that he's cooked and eaten by now." Alf got up; he was deeply grateful to Bobby Myers for giving him this chance of getting away. "I'll go now," he said. "I'm _so_ sorry!" "Don't mention it." Alf found his topper and joined P.C. Jobling outside. The two men set off through the darkness in silence--Alf because he was plunged in black gloom. Jobling because he was too terrified to speak. They reached the Manor gates at last and the entire population of the village seemed to be gathered at the spot in a state of mind bordering on frenzy. A raw-boned female fury, brandishing a meat-chopper, recognizable as Mrs. Myers, mother of the languishing captive, caught sight of Alf first. "'Ere 'e is!" she shrieked. "'Ere's the villain as 'as murdered my Bobby." "G-arh!" snarled the crowd. "Spy!" said somebody. "Kidnaper!" growled somebody else. "'Ound!" quavered a trembling old voice belonging to a rheumatic and usually bedridden octogenarian on the outskirts of the crowd. Alf paused irresolutely. He did not need to be told that he was in quite an ugly corner. Mrs. Myers came forward, brandishing the meat-ax. Alf gave back in alarm. "Where's my Bobby?" she demanded. "I dunno, mum," said Alf ingratiatingly. "But if you'll just let me pass I'll go an' get 'im for you." "Ho, yes! A nice game! No, my man, you'll stay 'ere till I get my Bobby back, or I'll know the reason why." P.C. Arthur Jobling came forward in his most official manner. "Move along there, please," he said. "Make way there; let the gentleman pass." There was a scornful laugh. "You just get out o' the light, Artie Jobling," said the voice of Mrs. Rudd. "We don't want to 'urt _you_, on'y this murderin' villain 'ere."