“What of that?”
“Only two things you can tak’ your pick of——”
“Christ!——”
“One, a neighbourly call on John Raikes i’ York, and t’other a signed deposition afore Parker i’ Ford. Cope’s got hold of him, that’s all.... What made ye lay hands on him?”
Monjoy groaned. “Never mind that, never mind that—where’s Cope?”
“I’ th’ bog yonder watching us, for all I know. I hadn’t time to ask Matthew any more; he packed me off to ye all in a minute and bade me run. And th’ new trial’s in a week, Emmason says.”
“Yes, yes,” Monjoy repeated stupidly.
“I wonder, James,” he said brokenly, by and by—“nay, look up at me, James—is it money, or hatred of myself he’s sold us for, sold Northrop and Haigh and all of us?”
“Nay, don’t tak’ on that road, Arthur; all isn’t over yet. Juries has stopped ... anyway, a daft man can’t gi’e evidence; no, not a daft man——”
“No, not a daft man,” Monjoy repeated dully. Mechanically he was rolling down his sleeves and fastening the buttons at the wrists.