Standring looked at her sadly. He was one of those who believed that Paul Stepaside would never be acquitted, and he wondered what the future might bring forth.
When Mary returned to the house, she took the piece of paper from her pocket and looked at the notes she had made.
"I wonder, I wonder!" she said. "At any rate, I'll go and see her. Brunclough Lane, Brunclough Lane," she repeated to herself. "27 Brunclough Lane."
Heedless of the fact that she had had no food since the morning, she went out again, and presently found herself in a long narrow street where all the houses partook of the same character, each jutting on the causeway. At one of the corner houses she saw the words, "Brunclough Lane." Her heart was beating wildly, and she was excited beyond measure. The more she reflected, the more she became convinced of the importance of what she had done. She told no one of what she was thinking, or of the chain of reasoning which had led her to go to Paul's office that morning. But she had not acted thoughtlessly. Her father's account of the meeting with Archie Fearn, and what the man had said to him, had altogether changed her plans. Hitherto she could not help acting on the assumption that Paul's mother was guilty of this dread deed, consequently all her inquiries had been influenced by this belief. Up to now they had ended in nothing, even as had those of her father. Directly she had become convinced, however, that Paul's mother could have known nothing of the murder, and that on the very night when it took place her mind must naturally have been filled with other things, she saw that she must go on entirely different lines. As a consequence of this she had made her seemingly unaccountable visit to Paul's office, and had made what Standring regarded as an almost unprecedented request, to examine the wage-books. When she had gone, Standring went through those same books again. He was trying to discover Mary's motive in all this, and was wondering whether she suspected him of immoral practice in relation to the wages of the operatives. No suspicion of the truth, however, entered his mind, and although many curious eyes watched her as she came into Brunclough Lane that afternoon, no one dreamed of her reason for going there.
She was not long in finding the number she sought. A hard-featured woman, about forty-five years of age, came to the door in response to her knock.
"Does Emily Dodson live here?"
"Ay," said the woman, looking at her suspiciously. "And who might yo' be?"
"I'm Mr. Paul Stepaside's sister," said Mary.
The woman did not speak, but looked at her visitor suspiciously. Had Mary been watching her face just then, she would have noted that her eyes seemed to contract themselves, and that her square jaw became set and defiant.
"Are you Emily Dodson's mother?"