“The dark wickedness!” gasped Mr. Blee; “an’ him dumb as a newt ’bout it all these years an’ years! The conscience of un!”
“Well, you needn’t trouble any more,” continued Phoebe to the policemen. “My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his awn hands now.”
Inspector Chown laughed.
“That’s gude, that is!—now he ’m blawn upon!”
“He ’s gwaine to give himself up—he caan’t do more,” said Phoebe, turning to her father who now reappeared.
“Coourse he caan’t do more. What more do ’e want?” the miller inquired.
“Him,” answered Mr. Chown. “No more an’ no less; an’ everything said will be used against him.”
“You glumpy auld Dowl!” growled a labouring man.
“All right, all right. You just wait, all of ’e! Wheer’s the man? How much longer be I to bide his pleasure? March! Damn it all! be the Law a laughing-stock?” The Inspector was growing very hot and excited.
“He’s gone,” said Phoebe, as Mr. Lamacraft entered the farm, put one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, then turned for further orders. “He’s gone, before light. He rested two hours or so, then us harnessed the trap an’ he drove away to Moreton to take fust train to Plymouth by way o’ Newton Abbot. An’ he said as Ted Chown was to go in arter breakfast an’ drive the trap home.”