Pooke listened attentively to all that was said relative to the fire, and prejudice against the man induced him to believe that Pasco had fired his own stores in order to obtain the insurance money; by what means Quarm was made the victim he could not tell. If he could prove Pepperill to be a rascal, it would be great satisfaction, but if he proved him to be a villain guilty of murder, that would be ecstasy.
Without warning given to Mrs. Pepperill, Mr. Pooke made a descent on the Cellars, attended by four of his men armed with shovels and picks. He did not even ask her leave to overturn the ruins and search among the heaps of ash for the remains of the man who, it was surmised, had perished in the fire. With an imperious voice and a consequential air he gave his orders; and when the men were engaged in testing the cinders to find whether they were cool, and might safely be turned over, and in hacking and removing the beams charred and menacing a fall, he betook himself to the outhouse, where was the cart, so as to examine that.
He returned speedily, carrying a bundle fastened in a handkerchief, and this he proceeded to open. It contained a clean shirt, stockings, a razor, and other articles such as a man would be likely to take with him when about to stay abroad a night or two.
“There!” exclaimed Pooke. “I have found at once what no one else saw’indubitable evidence not only that Jason Quarm came here, but that he never left this place. If he is not under these cinders, I ask, where else can he be?”
Kate and her aunt looked out at the door timidly. They knew that Mr. Pooke was constable, and they had no idea of any limit to his authority. He came towards them.
“I must know all about it’the ins and outs; the ups and downs. No blinking with me’no rolling of the matter up in blather. What do you know of Jason Quarm?” He turned to Mrs. Pepperill.
“Nothing at all,” she answered. “I do not even know that he came here.”
“Come here he did,” said Pooke. “Here is the donkey’here the cart’here his bundle of clothes. Now, did he go away?”
“I was not here; I was at Teignmouth. I know nothing,” said Zerah in nervous terror.
“The girl’the girl who had the impudence’to’to refuse my son’she knows something about this! She was with her uncle. Why did he ask Mr. Ash, the miller, to not only date his receipt of a trifle by the day of month, but by the hour of the evening? That is not ordinarily done. And why did he sneak back to the Cellars, after he had got a little way along the road, putting his trap up, and leaving it with the girl? I want to know all that!”