“Ah doan’t know as, oonder t’ circumstances, Ah’d tek t’ word o’ any gentleman.”
“You think I had a hand in this man’s death?”
Barnabas paused a long time, still looking at the body, still scratching his ear.
“Aye, sir, it dew look like it,” he admitted at last.
“Well, at first sight it, dew,” mimicked Captain Mulgrave in a lighter tone than the farmer thought becoming. “But I tell you it’s all d—d nonsense, I was coming down here to see what state the roads were in, and I heard men’s voices, and then two shots. I was half-way across that field. I ran, got over the wall, and found the fellow lying like this, with the revolver in his hand. I took it up, and found that two chambers had been discharged. I looked up and down the lane, but I couldn’t see any one.”
“Noa,” said Barnabas with a movement of the head, “Ah should suppose not.”
He bent down over the body again, examining it.
“He’s shot in t’ back. Did it hissen, most loike.”
“Now what reason have you for supposing I shot him?”
“Weel, sir, asking yer pardon, but to begin with, ye’ve gotten t’ name o’ being free wi’ them things.” And he raised the revolver, which he still held in his hand. “Then, sir, Ah happen to knaw as he came to bring ye a letter as were not loike to put ye into a good humour.”