“Gabriel,” said the Vicar in an agitated voice, “I greatly fear your hiding-place is known, and I have come to urge you to escape.”
“How hath it chanced, sir?” said Gabriel, starting to his feet in dismay.
“All the fault, sir, o’ that fool Zachary with his long tongue,” said Durdle, indignantly.
“Why, Zachary is a kindly old soul, he would never betray me,” said Gabriel, incredulously.
At that moment the sexton came up the ladder, and with an angry exclamation Mrs. Durdle flew at him and dragged him forward.
“Here, you zany! Come and tell the Vicar what you said just now at the inn, you silly old man to go mag, mag, mag, over your cider, bringing trouble on us all.”
“Gracious goodness, Mrs. Durdle! and what have I been about to fluster you like a turkey cock in a tearing temper?” protested the sexton.
“Gently, gently!” said the Vicar, “remember that walls may have ears. The truth is, Zachary, I learn from Bettington, of the ‘Bell,’ that you and Waghorn were drinking together, and that he heard you let fall words as to Captain Harford being above ground still, but not far from the grave.”
Zachary scratched his head. “I do mind me now that we jested about graves, and that ’twas mighty pleasant to think how little he knew, for all he looked so wise.”
“I fear, Zachary, the man was too wily for you, he plied you with cider till you all but told him where Captain Harford lay. You should drink less, man, you should drink less.”