"But are you sure she has not been home, Joe Banks?" said Mrs Glaire, looking at him wistfully.

"Sure, ay, quite sure," said Joe, sternly. "Here is the poor bairn's shawl, and her basket too. I'll leave 'em here, if you'll let me."

He laid them down in the hall, and stepped out to where there was quite a crowd of workmen now, waiting to help in the search; but as they caught sight of Richard Glaire, who now came forward, there was a savage groan.

"Ask him where he's put thee bairn, Joe Banks; he knows," cried a shrill voice, that of some woman; and another groan arose, making Richard draw back shivering.

"Look at the white-faced coward," shouted a man. "Ask him, Joe Banks, ask him."

"Nay, nay, lads," said the foreman, sternly. "Ye're aw wrong. I hev asked him, and he's told me. He knows nowt about the poor bairn."

A murmur arose at this, but Joe Banks turned round to where Richard stood.

"You come along o' me, Master Richard, and no one 'll lay a finger on thee whiles thou'rt by my side. He was at home aw night, lads, and it's not him as would do her harm."

The little crowd seemed only half satisfied; but they gave place as, making an effort, the young man stepped out, and then in a purposeless way the search was about to begin, when there was a cheer given, for the vicar came hurrying up the street.

He looked hot and flushed, and his eyes met those of Richard Glaire so sternly that, for the moment, the young man blushed, but he recovered himself directly, to give an insolent stare in return.

"Mr Banks," exclaimed the vicar, "this is grievous news indeed;" and ignoring the foreman's half-distant manner, he shook his hand warmly.

"Thanky, parson," said Joe, hoa.r.s.ely.

"You are about to make a general search, of course," he said; "but where are the police?"

"One's gone across to station, and the other's up at the chalk pit,"

said a voice.

"First of all," said the vicar, "did any one here see Daisy Banks after she went up the road?"

There was silence for a few moments, and then Richard said firmly:

"I saw her for a few moments up by the pit."

"And not after?" said the vicar, fixing his eyes on the young man.

"I object to this cross-examination," said Richard, hotly. "This is not a magistrate."

"Parson asked thee a plain question, lad; give him a plain answer," said Joe, quietly. "Thou'st nowt to fear."

"No, then," said Richard, loudly. "I was at home."

"Mr Banks, then, you had better take twenty men; you go with these twenty, Podmore; and--"

He hesitated a moment, when Joe Banks said:

"Master Richard will take another twenty."

"And another score will perhaps go with me," said the vicar. "Then we'll each take one road; and mind, my men, every ditch, copse, and pond must be well searched; and, above all, mind and ask at every cottage on the road, who has pa.s.sed, and what carts or carriages have gone along since last night."

The parties were soon told off, when the vicar exclaimed:

"But stop! There were two strangers here yesterday."

"Yes," chorused several. "Two ill-looking chaps from one of the big towns."

"Ay," cried big Harry; "and I sin 'em go up towards the chalk pit."

"So did I," said another.

There was silence for a moment or two, and Tom Podmore seemed to feel the place go round, but he roused himself directly as he heard the vicar's clear ringing voice:

"Then if some treacherous, unmanly scoundrel has not carried off, or persuaded this poor girl to leave father, mother, and home, for his own bad ends, we have found the clue. But mind this, my lads, we are going to run down those two men, but no violence. Let's take them, but we must prove that they have been guilty."

"Aw raight, parson;" and the whole party were for a rush up the road towards the chalk pit; but the vicar kept them to their separate tasks; and, glancing upwards, he caught a glimpse of two pale faces at the Big House, and the faces were those of Eve Pelly and Mrs Glaire.

Then each party started, and the search began.

Volume 2, Chapter X.

A FRUITLESS SEARCH.

The chalk pit naturally formed the great attraction, and on reaching it, the spots were pointed out where basket and shawl were found; but though a careful search was made by a portion of the force, nothing was for some time found to account for the disappearance.

The party had, however, divided here, and a portion of them, under Big Harry, had hastened along the road toward the Four Alls, the name of the little public-house where it was expected to hear some tidings of the men who had been seen in the town, and who must have pa.s.sed, even if they were guiltless of wrong. The vicar, however, chose to remain behind, with about ten of his party, and together they began to make a more careful search about the pit--the first investigation being of the low post-and-rail fence which ran along the edge, to see if it was perfect in every part.

Yes, there was no doubt of it; not a rail was broken, or post bent out of the perpendicular, as would probably have been the case had any one fallen against it or been pushed over. Not even a piece of the shallow turf growing on the very brink of the pit was disordered, and the vicar was about to give up that part of the search, when he made a leap forward, and took from a rough splintered portion of the divided fir-pole which formed the rail a tiny sc.r.a.p of red worsted, such as might very well have been torn from Daisy's shawl.

"I think we're on the right track, my lads," said the vicar. "Now let's divide, and we'll search the coppice here, along the edge of the pit."

The men went eagerly to work, and searched foot by foot the little thin sprinkling of fir trees and gorse that hung upon the edge of the declivity, but without avail--there was not a spot that could have sheltered a human form that was not scanned, and the divided party met at last upon the low ground at the slope of the hill, where the cart track cut its way in, and the lime-kiln stood half-way into the pit.

The vicar paused for a moment by the kiln, and peered in. It was not burning, and in a few minutes he was able to satisfy himself that no one had been in there, and with a shudder he turned away, spreading his men so that step by step they examined the rough white and gray blocks that had been thrown aside or had fallen. Some were fresh and of the purest white, with here and there delicate traces of the pectens and cardiums of a former sh.e.l.ly world; others were h.o.a.ry and grey, and covered with a frosty lichen; while others, again, were earth-stained and brown.

In accordance with their leader's instructions, each block was eagerly examined, the vicar's idea being that it was possible for a cruel murder to have taken place, and for the token of the hideous crime to have been hidden, by laying it in some depression, and piling up the pieces of chalk, of which ample lay ready, for hiding a hundred such crimes.

But, no; there were footmarks here and there, and traces of the edges of the blocks having been chipped by heavy boots; but no spot could be found where they could satisfy themselves that they had been removed.

By this time some forty more st.u.r.dy workmen had come up; the event, in the midst of their enforced idleness from the works, being hailed as an excitement; and any amount of muscle was ready to help if directed.

The long search was, however, in vain; and their leader was pondering as to what he should do next, when a rough voice shouted:

"See here, lads. We'll do ony mander o' thing to find Joe Banks's bairn. Come on! let's hurl ivery bit o' calk out o' the pit."

There was a shout at this, and the men were about to put their project in execution, when the vicar held up his hand.

"It's waste of strength, my lads," he said. "I am fully convinced that none of these blocks have been moved. Better search the lanes along the road."