"Mr. Neale!" he whispered, glancing round at the panelling of the old parlour in which they stood, as if he feared that its ancient boards might conceal eavesdroppers, "I wanted a word with you--in private. How's this here affair going? Is aught being done? Is aught being found out? Is that detective chap any good?--him from London, I mean. Is there aught new--since this morning?" "Not to my knowledge, Mr. Walford," answered Neale, who knew well that the old innkeeper was hand-in-glove with the Scarnham police, and invariably kept himself well primed with information about their doings. "I should think you know nearly everything--just as much as I do--more, perhaps." The landlord poked a stout forefinger into Neale's waistcoat. "Aye!" he said. "Aye, so I do!--as to what you might call surface matter, Mr. Neale. But--about the main thing, which, in my opinion, is the whereabouts of John Horbury? Does yon young lady at the Scarnham Arms know aught more about her uncle? Do you? Does anybody? Is there aught behind, like; aught that hasn't come out on the top?" "I don't know of anything," replied Neale. "I wish I did! Miss Fosdyke's very anxious indeed about her uncle: she'd give anything or do anything to get news of him. It's all rot, you know, to say he's run away--it's my impression he's never gone out of Scarnham or the neighbourhood. But where he is, and whether dead or alive, is beyond my comprehension," he concluded, shaking his head. "If he's alive, why don't we hear something, or find out something?" Walford gave his companion a quick glance out of his shrewd old eyes. "He might be under such circumstances as wouldn't admit of that there, Mr. Neale," he said. "But come!--I've got something to tell you--something that I found out not half an hour ago. I was going on to tell Polke about it at once, but I remembered that you were in the house at this cricket club meeting, so I thought you'd do instead--you can tell Polke. I'm in a bit of a hurry myself--you know it's Wymington Races tomorrow, and I'm off there tonight, at once, to meet a man that I do a bit of business with in these matters--we make a book together, d'ye see--so I can't stop. But come this way." He led Neale out into the long sanded passage, and down through the rear of the old house into a big stable-yard, enclosed by variously shaped buildings, more or less in an almost worn-out and dilapidated condition, whose roofs and gables showed picturesquely against the sky, faintly lighted by the waning moon. To one of these, a tower-like erection, considerably higher than the rest, the old landlord pointed.