"Yes, sir, I think so," replied Maine, "for they had a good look round the place when they came to the back door, and tried to wheedle Mrs Slee. Now they've been away and made their plans, and come back. I've seen one of them to-day." "This is news," said the vicar, musing. "These are the men the police sought to overtake on the day after poor Daisy Banks's disappearance; but if we set the police after them now, we shall scare them away. John Maine, we must catch these night-birds ourselves. Get Tom Podmore to come here." "I spoke to him before I came in, but he's got something on his mind, and could not come." "Then we must do it ourselves. You'll help me, Maine?" "That I will, sir, with all my strength." "Good; then we can manage this little task without disturbing the police till to-morrow morning; when, if we are lucky, we shall be able to send for them to take charge of our prisoners." Volume 3, Chapter VII. WHERE JOHN MAINE HAD BEEN. It was a very miserable breakfast at the farm the next morning, for old Bultitude was looking very black and angry, and it was quite evident that poor little Jessie had been in tears. "What time did that scoundrel go out?" said the farmer, stabbing a piece of ham savagely with his fork, and after cutting a piece off as if it were a slice off an enemy, he knocked out the brains of an egg with a heavy dash of his tea-spoon. "Don't call him a scoundrel, uncle dear," sobbed Jessie. "I don't know." "I will, I tell 'ee," cried the old man furiously. "I won't hev him hanging about here any longer, a lungeing villain. Leaving his wuck and going off, and niver coming back all neet. Look thee here, Jess; if thee thinks any more about that lad, I'll send thee away." "No, no, uncle dear, don't say that," cried the girl, going up and clinging to him. "He may have been taken ill, or a dozen things may have happened." "O' coorse. Theer, I niver see such fools as girls are; the bigger blackguard a man is, the more the women tak's his part. Sit thee down, bairn; theer, I aint cross wi' you; I on'y want to do what's best for you, for I wean't see thee wed to a shack." He kissed poor Jessie affectionately, and bade her "make a good breakfast," but the poor girl could not touch a morsel. "Hillo! who's this?" said the farmer, a few minutes later. "Oh, it's young Brough. Come in, lad, come in." "Hooray, farmer!" he cried, all eagerness and delight. "I telled you so--I telled you so, and you wouldn't believe it, and Miss Jessie theer turned like a wood cat, and was ready to scrat my eyes out." Jessie's colour came and went as her little bosom heaved, and she turned her chair so as to avoid the keeper's gaze. "What did'st tell me?" said the farmer gruffly.