It took them some time; and then the carpenter turned to Ferguson.
“You marked this tenon off before you cut it. Did you run the saw past your line?”
“No,” said Ferguson with a start; “that’s certain. I dressed up to the mark afterward with a chisel.”
The carpenter looked at Kermode meaningly.
“Guess you’re right. See here”—he indicated the broken stump—“there’s a saw-cut running well inside his mark. Now that tenon was a bit too small, anyway, and when they’d notched her, she hadn’t wood enough left to hold up the weight.”
There were exclamations from the others standing round in the snow, but Kermode glanced at Ferguson. His face grew darkly red, but with an effort he controlled his anger.
“Who can have done this thing?” he asked.
“There’s no direct evidence to show, but I’ve my suspicions,” Kermode said. “It’s dangerous to interfere with people’s business, particularly when it isn’t quite legitimate. You must have known you ran a risk.”
“Do you think I should have let that stop me?” Ferguson asked with sparkling eyes.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Kermode rejoined. “Perhaps you had better wait and think the thing over when you cool off. I’ve some logs to haul in.”