West looked at the poor woman with a feeling of pity, and then felt disposed to kick Anson for his brutality, for the clerk’s gesture was that of an ill-tempered cur: he literally snapped at her.
“Out of the way, you idiot!” he cried, “and let this police-constable and his party come by.”
West saw the directors exchange glances before following the superintendent into the little house, leaving the two clerks to the last, the police-constables remaining watchfully at the door.
“Master Anson is regularly cutting the ground from under him, Ingle,” said West softly.
“Yes: the fool! I take it to be a tacit confession. You don’t think I’ve made a mistake now?”
West shook his head and looked distressed, but said nothing.
“Of course he’ll never come back to us, and he knows it, or he’d never put on this defiant manner. Hark at him!”
For at that moment the object of their thoughts shouted loudly: “Here, you two spies, what are you waiting behind for? Come in and help search the place.”
West frowned and hung back, but Ingleborough laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Come along,” he said; “you must help me to see it through! It isn’t pleasant, but it’s part of one’s duty.”