CHAPTER XVI—­CRAWLEY DOWNS

All through that weary night my uncle and I, with Belcher, Berkeley Craven, and a dozen of the Corinthians, searched the country side for some trace of our missing man, but save for that ill-boding splash upon the road not the slightest clue could be obtained as to what had befallen him.  No one had seen or heard anything of him, and the single cry in the night of which the ostler told us was the only indication of the tragedy which had taken place.  In small parties we scoured the country as far as East Grinstead and Bletchingley, and the sun had been long over the horizon before we found ourselves back at Crawley once more with heavy hearts and tired feet.  My uncle, who had driven to Reigate in the hope of gaining some intelligence, did not return until past seven o’clock, and a glance at his face gave us the same black news which he gathered from ours.

We held a council round our dismal breakfast-table, to which Mr. Berkeley Craven was invited as a man of sound wisdom and large experience in matters of sport.  Belcher was half frenzied by this sudden ending of all the pains which he had taken in the training, and could only rave out threats at Berks and his companions, with terrible menaces as to what he would do when he met them.  My uncle sat grave and thoughtful, eating nothing and drumming his fingers upon the table, while my heart was heavy within me, and I could have sunk my face into my hands and burst into tears as I thought how powerless I was to aid my friend.  Mr. Craven, a fresh-faced, alert man of the world, was the only one of us who seemed to preserve both his wits and his appetite.

“Let me see!  The fight was to be at ten, was it not?” he asked.

“It was to be.”

“I dare say it will be, too.  Never say die, Tregellis!  Your man has still three hours in which to come back.”

My uncle shook his head.

“The villains have done their work too well for that, I fear,” said he.

“Well, now, let us reason it out,” said Berkeley Craven.  “A woman comes and she coaxes this young man out of his room.  Do you know any young woman who had an influence over him?”

My uncle looked at me.

“No,” said I.  “I know of none.”

“Well, we know that she came,” said Berkeley Craven.  “There can be no question as to that.  She brought some piteous tale, no doubt, such as a gallant young man could hardly refuse to listen to.  He fell into the trap, and allowed himself to be decoyed to the place where these rascals were waiting for him.  We may take all that as proved, I should fancy, Tregellis.”

“I see no better explanation,” said my uncle.