“Chinks doesn’t move up and down an’ back’ards an’ forrads same as a chap was seeking his gallus button,” returned Job doggedly: and Swithin turned on him with a fierceness that seemed out of all proportion to the occasion.
“His gallus button! What does tha mean?” he asked almost menacingly.
“It was only a figger o’ speech,” Job answered surlily; at a loss to know how he had aroused the old man’s ire.
“Then keep your figgers o’ speech and your daft boggart tales to yourself,” growled Swithin.
“You’ve no ’casion to cut up so rough ’cos I didn’t fancy t’ heifer,” said Job hotly; and disappointed that his communication had been received so coolly, he soon took his departure.
The report spread, rumour companied with it; statements credible and incredible multiplied; a mysterious stranger of sinister appearance who lurked in the shadows and was never seen by day was believed in by every villager except Inman and Swithin. The old man was particularly incredulous and aggravatingly sarcastic. The word “daft” was always on his lips; but the evidence of things not seen was good enough for the generality, and faith in the obscure alien was almost universal.
Police Constable Stalker was not numbered with the believers. Whether it was that Inman’s scepticism had influenced him or that the evidence was not of the kind that is accepted in a police-court, he remained as scornful and sceptical as Swithin himself. When his detractors ventured to suggest that it was his business to lay the ghost or lay hands on it he had one ready reply that reduced them to silence—
“A man can’t be everywhere at once!” he said. “We shall have to see if we can’t arrange for a few ‘specials!’ ”
It was not until January had usurped February’s prerogative by filling the dykes to overflowing that the weather moderated. Three days of brilliant sunshine ushered in the year’s second month: three spring-like days when the grass beside the swollen river lost its grey winterly look and lay yellow-green in the warm sunlight.
Nancy, her well-shawled baby in her arms, left her home in the early afternoon to walk for a while in the crisp, sweetly-scented air. The footbridge near the house was under water so she turned down the road and crossed the green in front of the “Packhorse,” at that hour deserted of customers. From the doorway of the inn Albert threw her a pleasant greeting.