He broke off, and whirled round upon me again.

“Where is Marby?”

“It’s on the other side of Cranchester.”

“How far away?”

“Oh!⁠—fourteen miles, perhaps.”

“Would it be possible for you to go there? Tomorrow, say?”

“Tomorrow? Let me see, that’s Sunday. Yes, I could arrange it. What do you want me to do there?”

“See this Mrs. Folliott. Find out all you can about Ursula Bourne.”

“Very well. But⁠—I don’t much care for the job.”

“It is not the time to make difficulties. A man’s life may hang on this.”