“Not the men. Only the stuff—for my wife’s sake.”
Bartley brought the trap to the door, and as Sweetland was helped in, Mr Beer and his wife drove up in their little market cart.
The police said nothing, and soon they were on their way again, but not before Johnny Beer had spoken to his friend.
“Keep a cheerful face in this terrible case. Us’ll do all we can for our old pal, Dan. To think of the tragedy on your wedding day! It have so got hold upon me that I’ve made tragical rhymes upon it all the way back from Moreton. Please God, I’ll get the chance to tell ’em to ’e some day.”
“I hope you will, Johnny, though it don’t look very likely.”
The trap drove off. Its lamps were lighted, and they cast a bright blaze forward into a dark night. Presently Daniel stopped them, and Bartley jumped down and took the horse’s head.
“Now keep over the grass track to the right an’ us will be in King’s Oven in ten minutes,” said Sweetland.
Swaying and jolting, their dog-cart proceeded into the great central silence and stillness of the Moor.