He looked at the Superintendent of Police, expecting the Superintendent to assure him that it was not serious; but the Superintendent only raised his small white-bearded chin, saying nothing. The Rector shook his head, and shook a senile tear out of his eye.
After another chat with young Lawton, Samuel, on behalf of Daniel, dropped his pose of the righteous man to whom a mere mishap has occurred, and who is determined, with the lofty pride of innocence, to indulge all the whims of the law, to be more royalist than the king. He perceived that the law must be fought with its own weapons, that no advantage must be surrendered, and every possible advantage seized. He was truly astonished at himself that such a pose had ever been adopted. His eyes were opened; he saw things as they were.
He returned home through a Square that was more interested than ever in the facade of his cousin’s house. People were beginning to come from Hanbridge, Knype, Longshaw, Turnhill, and villages such as Moorthorne, to gaze at that facade. And the fourth edition of the Signal, containing a full report of what the Stipendiary and the barrister had said to each other, was being cried.
In his shop he found customers, as absorbed in the trivialities of purchase as though nothing whatever had happened. He was shocked; he resented their callousness.
“I’m too busy now,” he said curtly to one who accosted him.
“Sam!” his wife called him in a low voice. She was standing behind the till.
“What is it?” He was ready to crush, and especially to crush indiscreet babble in the shop. He thought she was going to vent her womanly curiosity at once.
“Mr. Huntbach is waiting for you in the parlour,” said Constance.
“Mr. Huntbach?”
“Yes, from Longshaw.” She whispered, “It’s Mrs. Povey’s cousin. He’s come to see about the funeral and so on, the—the inquest, I suppose.”