The man’s temper was still warm; but at the mention of Lane End the other recovered himself. He lowered his hand and thrust the coins uncounted into his trousers’ pocket, and the stunned look left his face.
“If I’ve to choose between robbing widows and robbing you, Baldwin Briggs,” he said, “I’ll none need to think twice. And widow or no widow, honest folks don’t scamp their work; and I’ve been brought up in t’ wrong school for tricks o’ that sort. So if that’s your last word I’ll get my bass and make my way home.”
He turned as he spoke and Mr. Briggs said nothing, but spat angrily after the retreating figure. Not one of the elderly men had uttered a word or moved a hand during the colloquy, and they remained motionless when the stranger crossed the road and going up to the master-carpenter laid a hand on his arm.
“Are you filling this chap’s place?” he asked.
Mr. Briggs turned with an angry gesture, but at sight of the stranger he controlled his features and took stock of the situation whilst staring into the newcomer’s face. He was naturally cautious, and his brain worked slowly. Some instinct told him that the man was a carpenter, probably skilled at his trade—“a likely lad” as he put it in his thoughts.
On the other hand Jagger Drake was a good worker and a steady,—some of his customers would have no other—with no fault worth speaking of but a ridiculous conscientiousness; and the episode which had just ended had been more than half “play-acting” designed to bring the lad to his senses and show him on what dangerous ground he was standing.
Inman bided his time but never moved his eyes from the other’s face, and in the steely concentrated gaze there was a suggestion of hypnotic power. Interpreting the master’s hesitation as a sign of wavering he went on in a firm but studiously respectful voice:
“I’ll do a job whilst yon chap’s planning it out. I’ll do in five minutes what’ll take him twenty, and do it right too. Yon chap’s too slow to go to his own funeral.”
“Where d’you come from?” Mr. Briggs growled.
“From Scaleber,” he said, offering the tag end of truth. “My name’s James Inman and luck sent me here—your luck and mine. I came to seek a job with you, and when I heard you sack yon ninny I knew I’d come in the nick of time.”