"Got him there," muttered the jam-maker.
"Well, I'll tell you," said Pendoggat roughly. "I wouldn't have said a word if the minister had played fair, but if it's true he's gone against me to save himself I'll tell you. He gave me that bit of stuff and told me what I was to do with it. I didn't know what it was, and I don't know now. I did what I was told to do, and got an extra ten shillings for doing it."
The grocer and his friend looked at one another, and the uncle muttered something about the nephew which Eli would have wept to hear. Some one had uttered particularly gross lies to him, and he had an idea Pendoggat was telling the truth. The grocer and jam-maker were men easily deceived by a smooth manner; and Pendoggat's story had impressed them far more than Pezzack's, just because the countryman had a straightforward confession, while the minister rambled and spoke foolishly.
"Gave him ten bob for doing it," whispered the jam-maker, nudging the grocer.
"I'm ready to come with you, gentlemen," said Pendoggat.
It was nearly dark, and by the time they reached the village the chapel doors would be open. Pendoggat knew he must get away that night because he was afraid of Annie. He had struck her at last, and she had been at the liquor ever since. He could hear her screaming in the house; she might get hold of his gun and blaze at him during the night. It was going to be clear and frosty, a good night for a long walk, and the notes were packed away in his pocket. There was only one duty remaining—the unmasking of Pezzack, who apparently had been trying to blacken his character. Annie would quiet down when she found herself alone. She would not follow him, or give information against him; and if she did the one thing he could outwit her, and if she did the other it would go hard with her. "I'll come with you, gentlemen," he repeated. "The soul that sinneth it shall die. That's a true saying, and it comes from the true word."
"What about my blooming money, though?" muttered the grocer; while his friend was wondering whether an extra halfpenny on jam would recoup him for his losses.
They met no one as they crossed the smoky stretch of moor. It was going to be a hard night, and already the peat felt as unyielding as granite. The grocer slapped his arms across his unwieldy chest, and said it was "a bit parky" in his vulgar way, and longed for his snug jerry-built villa; while his friend agreed that Dartmoor was a place of horror and great darkness, and wished himself back in his gas-scented factory superintending the transformation of carrots into marmalade. They walked in single file along a narrow pony track, Pendoggat leading with his eyes upon his boots.
Pezzack was in the chapel when the little party arrived. He was whiter than ever, not altogether with cold, though Ebenezer was like a damp cave by the sea, but with nervousness, with fear of his rotund uncle and dread of the mysterious Pendoggat. He did not know even then whether Pendoggat was his friend or his enemy. He could not explain the fit of madness which had come upon the man that night they had left the chapel together, and had made him use his wretched self so shamefully; but then he could explain nothing, not even a simple text of Scripture. He could only bleat and flounder, and tumble about hurting himself; but he was still a happy man, he told himself. Partner Pendoggat was a rough creature, almost a brute sometimes, but he would not desert him when the pinch came.
The visitors did not approve of Ebenezer, and expressed themselves to that effect in disdainful whispers. It was altogether unlike the comfortable tabernacle where the grocer thanked God he was not like other men; and as for the jam-maker he was of the Anglican brood, a sidesman of his church, a distributer of hymn-books, a collector of alms, and all the ways of Nonconformity he utterly abhorred. He settled himself in an Established Church attitude, in a corner with his head lolling against the wall and his legs stretched out; while the grocer adopted the devotional pose of Wesleyanism, sitting upright with his hands folded across his watch-chain and his chin upon his chest.