“All the evidence points one way,” said Mr. Webster despondently.
“Oh, no! it doesn’t, beggin’ yo’r pardon for contradictin’ yo’,” said Jack. “There’s plenty think George ’ll scrape through.”
“As how?” I asked.
“Why on th’ halibey. Mr. Blackburn ’ll have summat to go on. Yo’ know John Womersley, th’ watch maker’ i’ Cloth Hall Street?”
“Aye, aye.”
“Well he says he wer’ talkin’ wi’ George just after six bi th’ clock opposite th’ Cloth Hall, an’ had a glass wi’ him at th’ White Hart.”
“Well?”
“Why it wer’ just on six when Mr. Horsfall wer’ shot on Crosland Moor, an’ if George were i’ th’ White Hart at hauf past six, it stan’s to reason he couldn’t be shootin’ folk on th’ moor at six.”
“Womersley’s a decent man, and his word will have weight,” said my father with relief in his tone. “Perhaps we’ve been misjudgin’ the lad after all.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Soldier. “An’ like enough others ’ll turn up ’at can give similar evidence. But it’s a tickle job is a halibey, best o’ times.”