"I'm goin' to see that Mr. Brand, the missionary."
"Why, Jerry, what's 'e got to do with it?"
"I've been makin' inquiries on my own hook," said Slade, nodding; "and I've found out from some of those Bethesda folk as Mr. Brand, was a-goin' to take that nigger girl back to her island. Now's she's murdered, he won't like it. 'Sides," added Jeremiah, his mouth full of bread-and-butter, "Mr. Brand, he don't like the parson."
"What good does that do?"
"Good? You never will read to improve your mind, Jemima. Why, don't the book say as the detective always gets 'old of the enemy of the cove as done the crime?"
"But Mr. Johnson ain't done it, you fool! Lor'!" suddenly enlightened, "p'r'aps it is 'im!"
Jeremiah nodded three times, and drank his cup to the dregs. "And don't you go talkin' about it, neither; or you'll never get to Poldew. D'ye 'ear?"
"I'll be as silent as the tomb," said Mrs. Slade, who was a virago chiefly so far as domestic matters were concerned. "What makes you think as Mr. Johnson did it, Jerry? I've seen 'im myself, and 'e's that pale he couldn't kill a little fly."
"D'yer know Mr. Mayne?"
At the mention of this name the virago side of Mrs. Slade obtruded itself.