‘I tell you that we stand or fall together,’ said Conseltine.
‘That’s a lie! If I was an accessory before the fact, I can plade insufficiency of motive, and turn Queen’s evidence. What d’ye say to that, now?’
Conseltine’s face went a shade whiter, and its expression a shade uglier, as he glanced down at Feagus, and then surveyed the gloomy prospect surrounding him. For the moment his impulse was to spring upon his accomplice, and strangle him then and there; but Feagus, though small, was wiry, and fierce as a wild cat, and would have taken a great deal of killing. Momentary as the impulse was, it expressed itself clearly on his countenance, and was at once understood and appreciated by Feagus, who said with a savage and spiteful grin:
‘Wouldn’t ye like to get rid of me now, as ye got rid of poor Moya Macartney? So I’m a thorn in your side, Dick Conseltine? By the powers, I’ll be a bigger thorn yet, if ye don’t mind what you’re after!’
‘You’re drunk,’ returned Conseltine, ‘and you talk like a child. Come along!’
And he walked slowly on.
‘A child, am I, and drunk?’ muttered Feagus, irresolute whether to follow or turn back. ‘Well, I’m neither too young nor too drunk to guess what game you’re after, my fine gintleman. If I’m not before ye, ’tis you that will be blowing the gaff, and denouncing me, to save your own skin. So I won’t leave ye yet awhile, I’m thinking.’
He followed Conseltine at a short distance, grumbling and cursing at every footstep of the way. From time to time Conseltine glanced back to assure himself that he was following.
At last, soaked to the skin and splashed with mud, they came in view of Blake’s Hall. By this time the rain had almost ceased, but above the heights which rose seaward, beyond the flat valley in which the Hall lay, a great mass of vaporous cumuli, black and ominous, hung like a pall. Between this mass and the hill summits was a white space filled with smoke-like vapour, with gleams of shimmering silver. The silence had grown deeper, but when the slightest sound arose it travelled with startling distinctness for miles. Here and there, between the valley and the hills, were scattered cottages, bright patches of green pasture, and clumps of woodland. From these, at intervals, came the lowing of cattle, the crowing of a cock, the cry of a solitary human voice—each and all of which seemed to make the silence more intense.
Down to the cottage, or hall, went the two men, only to find that they had come upon a useless errand. The door stood open, but when they entered there was no sign of anybody within. Tired with his long walk, Feagus threw himself on a stool, and, lighting his pipe, began smoking furiously, while Conseltine, returning to the door, searched the prospect in vain for any trace of the man he sought.