“Bonus was catched poachin’ last night to the Red House. An’ he’ve had his faace smashed in, nose broke, an’ all. He escaped arter; but he went to Doctor fust thing to-day an’ got hisself plastered; an’ then, knawin’ ’t weern’t no use to hide, comed right along an’ gived hisself up to faither.”
“My stars! An’ no more’n what he desarved, that’s certain.”
“But that ban’t all, even. Maister Jan Grimbal’s missing! He rode off last night, Laard knaws wheer, an’ never a sign of un seed since. They’ve sent to the station ’bout it a’ready; an’ they ’m scourin’ the airth for un. An’ ’t was Maister Blanchard as fought wi’ Bonus, for Sam said so.”
“Guy Fawkes an’ angels! Here, you mix this. I must tell Miller an’ run about a bit. Gwaine to be a gert day, by the looks of it!”
He hurried into the house, met his master and began with breathless haste,—
“Awful doin’s! Awful doin’s, Miller. Such a sweet-smellin’ marnin’, tu! Bear yourself stiff against it, for us caan’t say what remains to be told.”
“What’s wrong now? Doan’t choke yourself. You ’m grawin’ tu auld for all the excitements of modern life, Billy. Wheer’s Will?”
“You may well ax. Sleepin’ still, I reckon, for he comed in long arter midnight. I was stirrin’ at the time an’ heard un. Sleepin’ arter black deeds, if all they tell be true.”
“Black deeds!”
“The bwoy Ted’s just comed wi’ it. ’T is this way: Bonus be at death’s door wi’ a smashed nose, an’ Blanchard done it; an’ Jan Grimbal’s vanished off the faace o’ the airth. Not a sign of un seed arter he drove away last night from the Jubilee gathering. An’ if ’t is murder, you’ll be in the witness-box, knawin’ the parties same as you do; an’ the sow ’s got a braave litter, though what’s that arter such news?”