"Nowt o' t' sort!" retorted the blacksmith. "He'd be safe on t' sound part o' t' bridge—it's only a piece on 't that gave way. I say that theer idea wants in-quirin' into. An' theer's another thing—what wor that lawyer-clerk chap fro' Barford—Pratt—doin' about theer? What reight had he to be prowlin' round t' neighbourhood o' that bridge, and at that time? Come, now!—theer's a tickler for somebody."
"He telled that," exclaimed several voices. "He had business i' t' place. He had some papers to 'liver."
"Then why didn't he go t' nearest way to t' house t' 'liver 'em?" demanded Stringer. "T' shortest way to t' house fro' t' railway station is straight up t' carriage drive—not through them plantations. I ax agen—what wor that feller doin' theer? It's important."
"Why, ye don't suspect him of owt, do yer, Mestur Stringer?" asked somebody. "A respectable young feller like that theer—come!"
"I'm sayin' nowt about suspectin' nobody!" vociferated the blacksmith. "I'm doin' nowt but puttin' a case, as t' lawyers 'ud term it. I say 'at theer's a lot o' things 'at owt to ha' comed out. I'll tell ye one on 'em—how is it 'at nowt—not a single word—wor said at yon inquest about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t' affair? Not one word!"
A sudden silence fell on the company, and the landlord tapped
Collingwood's arm and took the liberty of winking at him.
"Why," inquired somebody, at last, "what about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t' affair? What had she to do wi' t' affair?"
The blacksmith's voice became judicial in its solemnity.
"Ye listen to me!" he said with emphasis. "I know what I'm talking about. Ye know what came out at t' inquest. When this here Pratt ran to tell t' news at t' house he returned to what they term t' fatal spot i' company wi' t' butler, and a couple of footmen, and Dan Scholes, one o' t' grooms. Now theer worn't a word said at t' inquest about what that lot—five on em, mind yer—found when they reached t' dead corpse—not one word! But I know—Dan Scholes tell'd me!"
"What did they find, then, Mestur Stringer?" asked an eager member of the assemblage. "What wor it?"