“Yes, sir,” replied the constable, who thought the sergeant must be again in the neighbourhood, and experienced a sense of relief at this unexpected lightening of his responsibilities.
He halted as he spoke, and Mr. Harker and Maniwel came up. At sight of them Inman’s face dropped.
“I’ve arrested this man, sir,” Stalker explained, “wi’ the money ’at was stolen from Briggs in his possession on information laid by Mr. Inman.”
“I know,” the detective replied curtly; “and I’ve a warrant for the arrest of James Inman on the same charge. You can leave Drake to me, Stalker, and give your attention to the other prisoner. I’ve my car in a shed a hundred yards away, and we’ll get down there at once and make our way to Keepton.”
CHAPTER XXX
IN WHICH SWITHIN TELLS HIS STORY
IT was anything but a pleasant night, for a damp mist was clinging to the sides of the hills and condensing on the grey walls of the cottages, which looked as though some invisible hand was squeezing out a sponge upon them, yet the bar parlour of the “Packhorse” was uncomfortably crowded. On the other hand, that of the “Royal” was deserted, and the landlord might as well have closed his doors and gone across the green to the help of his competitor, whose legs and arms were kept in perpetual motion.
It was easy to see even at a glance who was monopolising the limelight on this occasion, for every chair was turned so that its occupant might catch a sight (albeit in some cases at the expense of an uncomfortable twisting of the neck) of Swithin’s face.
He sat in his usual seat upon the hearth, with old Ambrose in the arm-chair on the other side, and wore the pleased and self-satisfied expression of the man whose ship has come into port at last, and who can proceed at his leisure to unload the cargo and reveal its treasures.
Again and again had the tale been told, but each batch of newcomers found it easy to draw forth a repetition, for Swithin was like a gramophone in his readiness to oblige the company; and as he fortunately lacked the mechanical precision of that instrument, even those who had heard the story more than once bent forward to listen to it again, being convinced that there would be variations in the treatment though not in the theme.