“But they comed down from London for certain,” argued Corder.
“They might, or they might not,” answered the inspector.
“Then, for murders like this here murder of Adam Thorpe,” added Bartley. “I’m sure the county of Devon stands so high as anybody could wish. ’Tisn’t a deed to be proud of, certainly; but I won’t allow for one that London beats Devonsheer in anything. As many hangs to Exeter gaol as to any other county gaol in my knowledge.”
“Shall I hang over this job, do ’e reckon, Mr Corder?” asked Daniel, humbly.
“Ban’t for me to say, my son. A gun be a very damning piece of evidence. But if you can prove you wasn’t there, that’s all that need be done.”
“I was using my gun, but—”
“Don’t say nothing to me,” interrupted the giant. “I wish you well; but anything you say is liable to be used against you according to law. Therefore you’ll do wisest to keep your mouth shut till you can get your lawyer to listen to you.”
Silence fell; then the Warren Inn came into sight, and at the same moment Mr Corder pulled up and looked anxiously down his horse’s flank.
“Just jump out, will ’e, one of you men, an’ see if he’s picked up a stone. He has gone lame all of a sudden—in the near hind leg, I think.”
Bartley alighted and lifted the horse’s hoof. Then he examined the others. But there was no stone. Yet the horse went lame when they started again.