"Jarks!" cried the Rector, much annoyed. "And what has Jarks to do with this preposterous story?"
"If you ask him he will tell you," said Lestrange politely, and resumed his seat.
The Rector looked indignantly at his sexton, who, as minor official in the church, should have quailed before his superior. But there was no quailing or cringing about Jarks. The old fellow was as malicious as a magpie, and as garrulous. Looking more rusty than ever, he stood twisting his greasy old hat, and shifting from one leg to the other.
"Oh, I seed Muster Alan; yes, I seed un. On the night o' the funeral I were in the yard, a lookin' at 'em as I'd tucked away, an' I clapped eyes on Muster Alan. He wor' lookin' at the vault where I'd put away the last of 'em, he wor."
"About what time was that?" asked Mr. Phelps, with severity.
"Well, it might be about ten, Muster Phelps, sir."
"And what were you doing out of bed at that hour?"
"Lookin' at 'em," retorted Jarks, wiping his mouth. "Lor' bless you, Muster Phelps, all in the yard's m'own handiwork save some of the old uns. I like to see 'em all quiet an' humble in their narrow homes. Ay, an' I seed Muster Alan, an' he sez, 'I've come to look round, Jarks, an' you needn't say as I've bin about. Here's money for ye.' Ay, he did say that, an' guv me money. Course I said nothin' as there isn't no law agin folk walkin' round to see how them as has passed away is gettin' along."
"How long was Mr. Thorold with you?"
"It might be about five minutes, sir. He went to ketch a train at the half-hour to go back to Miss Sophy--hopin' I sees you well, miss!" with a pull of his forelock to the girl, who was standing pale and trembling at this disastrous confirmation.