"Forgive me, Griff; I might have known," said Gabriel Hirst, and accepted his friend's word for good and all.
A night or two later, as Lomax was coming home from the moor, he saw Joe Strangeways go in at the Bull doorway; the oil-lamp at the corner showed an evil look on the quarrymaster's face. Without pause or hesitation, Griff followed him into the noisy public bar. There was a shuffling of feet, followed by a silence.
"Strangeways, a word with you," said Griff, standing in the middle of the floor.
Joe laughed, and never so much as glanced at his enemy.
"Stand up, and come over here."
Still the quarrymaster did not look up, and Lomax crossed the floor.
"You're a heavy weight to lift, and I'd rather you came without fetching; but——"
Joe abandoned his defiant attitude on a sudden; he remembered that evening when Griff had laid him prone, with his feet on the top, and his head on the bottom, step of the Bull doorway. He got up reluctantly, growling as he went. Griff set him with his face to the company.
"You have heard strange tales of me lately, neighbours?"
A subdued hum was the only answer.