“Poor Ephraim! Poor misguided man!”
“Poor fiddlesticks!” I said, as near losing my patience as ever I was with my sweet love. “If ever a man deserved hanging, he does. He tried to murder me; he vamped up a tale to lure you to Bill’s o’ Jack’s, for I’ll go bail half he told you was lies; he gagged and bound you, and I tremble to think what worse he might have attempted; and yet you say ‘Poor Ephraim!’”
“He was such a nice, brave lad once,” she pleaded. “It was the drink, that cursed drink, that warped his mind and his wild nature and hot, fierce blood. Ah! Abe, Abe, let us judge not lest we be judged. How can you, who have always known a father’s love and such a father’s—and had a Christian home and nurture—how can you mete out just measure to such as Ephraim? It is for One who knows all to judge, not for us who can at best see but darkly as through a glass.”
“And now have you two done your billing and cooing —billing and cooing indeed !—came Ruth’s brisk voice as she entered the room with a basin of broth and half a teacake for her invalid. “You’ve been making Miriam cry, Abe, and I won’t have it. Why, she vowed it only needed the sight of you to make her happy, but all I can say is if that’s how she looks when she’s happy I don’t want to see her when she’s miserable. And you, too, Abe, what ails you? You look as if you’d got the whole world on your shoulders. Eat this, Miriam, and cheer up, dear heart. Fretting ne’er mended anything yet, and ne’er will. What you’ve got to do is to get well and strong, and then if joy’s in store for you, why, you’ll be ready for it, and if sorrow, you’ll be able to face it. Father’s asking for you, Abe, and Jim’s on tenterhooks to be off. He says Mitchell Mill’s going to rack and ruin, and another Bill’s o’ Jack’s do would bring him to skin and bone. But it’s my opinion that man would drink home-brewed and smoke twist if th’ world were coming to an end and falling to pieces all around him.
All that evening my father and Jim and I took serious counsel together. We thrashed the matter out in all its bearings. My father’s first view was that so soon as Miriam was sufficiently restored in health the whole truth must be told. To this I demurred that the result would probably be to make her ill again; that it was plain to see the horror of that night had so overcome her that the less her mind dwelt upon those tragic happenings the better; that my plan was to put Up in the sparrings without more delay, in trust that the new interests of a new life would go far to banish the terrors that beset the midnight hours; that the Bradburys were dead and nothing we could do could undo what was done and bring them to life again; that we were absolutely in the dark as to whether Ephraim or Daft Billy or both had struck the fatal blows; that if, through our means, Ephraim were taken he was quite capable of saving his own skin at the expense of Billy’s; and finally that it would be a poor requital of Billy’s devotion to Miriam to have him tracked down and put upon his trial for his life, and that I for one meant to hold my peace unless either the Red Tom’s or Reuben Platt or some other hitherto unsuspected person were in serious jeopardy, when, indeed, the truth must be told, though the heavens fell.
“Ah! if Billy would only come forward and tell the story himself,” said my father.
“That he’ll never do, Mr. Holmes, asking your pardon if aw put my say in wi’out bein’ axed. Yo’ see it’s this way, at least to my way o’ thinkin’ yo’ see Billy’s a cute sort o’ chap i’ some ways an’ only hauf baked i’ others. An’ all his life, as far as we know out on it, he’s bin at loggeryeads wi’ th’ law. He couldn’t weel be a gradely Burnplatter an’ not be that. Why th’ whiskey-spinnin’ ‘at’s gone on at Burnplatts ivver sin’ aw knew out’s enough to send th’ whole boilin’ on ’em to Botany Bay, to say nowt o’ horse steilin’, an’ piece-liftin’, an’ poachin’, an’ all mak’s o’ ways o’ ma’in a dishonest livin’. Nah! it stands to reason ’at Billy’ll ha’ no soort o’ affection for th’ law. He’s a law unto hissen. He’s happen thinkin’ at this varry minnit ’at them Bradburys had a hand i’ that mad prank o’ Ephraim’s ab—ab—what do yo’ ca’ it?”
“Abducting,” suggested my father.
“Aye! that’s it—abductin’. Weel, if he’s got that bee i’ his bonnet he’s noan frettin’ hissen ower th’ Bradburys, whether he killed them hissen or Ephraim had a hand i’ it, which aw’m thinkin’ we’st nivver know, unless they’re nabbed, an that they’ll nivver be till bobbies an’ detectives get more sense than they han now. It ’ud ma’ a pig laugh to hear th’ policeman at Diggle layin’ th’ law down on th’ subjec’ o’ Bill’s o’ Jack’s. It’s Pat’s an’ Platts an’ Platts an’ Pats, an’ he suspects ivvery Irish navvy atween Diggle an’ Greenfielt, an’ every man, woman, an’ child christened Platt, an’ there’s scores on ’em in Saddleworth. An’ th’ miracle to me is at onnybody can go on sayin’ Platts an’ Platts an’ ne’er tumble to Burnplatts: it’s like a chap at canna see th’ wood for trees. I’ my humble opinion th’ greatest benefactors o’ th’ criminal classes is th’ bobbies. If ivver aw do summat raal bad aw’st go live next door to a bobby an then aw’st be safe. But aw’m wanderin’ fro’ my subjec’. What aw’m drivin’ at is, ’at Daft Billy bein’ what he is, an’ no friend to th’ law nor th’ law to him, he’ll gi’ it a wide berth. Nowt’ll fetch him into these parts agen, unless he thinks Miriam’s i’ danger. That ’ud bring him: nowt more an’ nowt less. He’ll noan blab, trust him. Ephraim might if there were owt to gain by it, but is there?”
“There’s the offered reward of £200,” reminded my father.