A brave banquet was spread at Mrs Maine’s, and since all invited to it could not get into the parlour, an overflow of feeders took their dinner in the kitchen. Mr Beer’s pleasure was spoilt entirely by this circumstance, and his wife never liked Minnie’s aunt again. For the publican, by reason of his bulk, was invited to join the minor company in the kitchen; and then, when the time came, Daniel roared to him from the other room to come into the parlour and propose the bride’s health.
But this Mr Beer stoutly refused to do. His lady answered for him and her tartness struck all the wedding guests with consternation. Sour words from Mrs Beer were like bad grapes from a good vine.
“We’m very comfortable here, thank you, Mr Sweetland,” she shrilled back in answer to Daniel. “We know our place, since Mrs Maine has made it so clear. Us will tell our own speeches in the kitchen; an’ you can tell yours in the parlour; an’ it may be news to Mrs Maine that all the jugs on our table be empty—have been this long while.”
“An’ the room, small though it be, ban’t so small as the beer was,” added Mr Beer, with the note of an angry blackbird.
The empty jugs were filled; but nothing could remedy Mrs Maine’s error. So she lost her temper and began making pointed remarks about a silk purse and a sow’s ear. The visitors hastened to finish their meal, and Dan’s wedding breakfast ended without speeches or health-drinking. Since the beginning of the festivity there had indeed been a shadow in the air, and men and women whispered under their breath concerning the tragedy of the previous night. But the truth was hidden with general kindness of mind from the young bride and bridegroom. Now, indeed, it could be concealed no longer, and, horrible as a sudden death, there burst upon Daniel Sweetland and his new-made wife the tragedy of their lives.
The time for departure came and Daniel noticed that a crowd considerably larger than might have been expected began to gather at the railings of Mrs Maine’s cottage garden. Once or twice he saw Luke Bartley, the policeman, pass and order the people further back; then, as he himself emerged, with Minnie on his arm, the crowd overpowered Mr Bartley and came close. Daniel stared and his jaw stuck out and hardened, for no cheer or friendly shout greeted him now. Instead there rose hisses in the air and a hoarse under-sound, or growl, as of angry beasts.
Turning to learn the cause, two men suddenly approached him. One was the local inspector of police, a strong, brisk officer in uniform; the other Daniel had never seen before. Even at that tremendous moment young Sweetland’s interest was arrested. The stranger who now spoke to him stood six feet six inches and was evidently as powerful as he was tall. He dwarfed the people about him and his big voice rolled out so that it seemed to smother the church bells, which were now clashing a final peal of farewell to the departing pair.
“Who be you—Goliath of Gath, I should reckon?” said Dan stoutly, as the big man barred his way.
“No matter who I am,” he answered. “The question is—Who are you?”
“’Tis Daniel Sweetland—just married,” declared Inspector Gregory, who knew the Sweetlands well. “Sorry I am, Dan, to come between you an’ the joy of life at this minute; but so it must be. This here man’s a plain-clothes officer from Plymouth; an’ he’ve got the warrants all right an’ regular. You’m arrested for the murder of Adam Thorpe last night in Middlecott Lower Hundred. He was shot in the belly, an’ he died to hospital just after dawn this morning.”