“Not long at all, or you’d have had the whole village up here, poking and prying into every corner, I know,” said Ned, grimly. “And when you opened the door you saw the dogs lying as they are lying now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ve heard nobody about?”
“No, sir; at least, no, not to-day.”
“Not to-day! Then you have heard somebody in the place since I’ve been ill?”
“Oh, no, sir, not nobody to matter—nobody at all. Only one day, as I wur talking to Miss Denison from t’ Hall, as wur at t’ door asking about you, I wur pushed aside quite sudden like; and when I looked it wur parson Brander.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper as she uttered the name. For in spite of her cautious way of putting it, Sarah Wall felt a decided suspicion that the Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s, against whom her prejudice was strong, was at the root of this business.
“I don’t know where he come from, sir,” she croaked on, rather mysteriously. “But it wasn’t through t’ door, for it wur on t’ chain.”
Ned, having got out of her all she had tell, turned with an abrupt nod, left the kitchen, and again went out into the garden. Abel Squires, who was hobbling up the hill on his crutch, redoubled his pace when he saw his master at the gate.
“So ye’re aht, Ah see,” he called out, as soon as he was near enough. “Ah guessed how ’t would be as soon as ma back wur turned.”