For, ugly as it may sound and seem, there's nothing like facing facts, and I'm afraid, I'm very much afraid, that this disappearance of Maisie Dunlop is all of a piece with the rest of the villainy that's been going on--I am indeed!" I pushed my plate away at that, and got on my feet.

I had been dreading as much myself, all day, but I had never dared put it into words.
"You mean, Mr.Lindsey, that she's somehow got into the hands of--what ?--who ?" I asked him.
"Something and somebody that's at the bottom of all this!" he answered, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid, lad, I'm afraid!" I went away from all of them then, and nobody made any attempt to stop me, that time--maybe they saw in my face that it was useless.

I left the house, and went--unconsciously, I think--away through the town to my mother's, driving my nails into the palms of my hands, and cursing Sir Gilbert Carstairs--if that was the devil's name!--between my teeth.

And from cursing him, I fell to cursing myself, that I hadn't told at once of my seeing him at those crossroads on the night I went the errand for Gilverthwaite.
It had been late when Smeaton and I had got to Mr.Lindsey's, and the night was now fallen on the town--a black, sultry night, with great clouds overhead that threatened a thunderstorm.