Maniwel looked grave. “Does he know ’at we suspect Inman?”
“ ’Course he does. But Inman’s thrown him t’ sop, and Stalker can see naught wrong in him. I could almost think he’d set him on to watch me.”
“It’s a mess, lad! He plays a deep game and he’s ommost over clever for you and me. He’ll do us a bigger mischief if he can, you’ll see, especially now ’at we’ve ta’en on Baldwin. There’s a few deep ruts i’ t’ Straight Road.”
Though his face and voice were both sober there was a twinkle in the eyes he turned to his son.
“T’ game isn’t ended yet. Bide your time!”
Jagger’s teeth were still closed and his face was set and stern; but there was no sound of discouragement in the voice and Maniwel’s own features relaxed.
“Aye, we’ll bide our time. ‘In quietness and confidence’—that’s a good motto and it’ll see us through. What had best be our next move, think you?”
“T’ next move,” replied his son, “is to get to work and do this job over again. You’d better go down and bring one or two back with you. I shame for anybody to see it, but that can’t be helped. It’s his trick.”
He had taken off his coat as he spoke and was folding up his sleeves. “I wish I had him here,” he continued grimly as he bent his arm and doubled his fist. “T’ next trick ’ud be mine. If I’d a fair chance I’d make t’ lion lie down so as t’ lamb ’ud be safe enough: I would that!”
The disaster was discussed at length the same evening in the bar parlour of the “Packhorse” where until the entrance of Frank’s father opinion was fairly evenly divided, the older men being warm in their assertions of foul play, but some of the younger ones inclining to the theory that Jagger’s workmanship must be unsound.