The Greatest Works of J. S. Fletcher (64+ Titles in One Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ swallows. "I was through there this morning. It's my first stopping-place, is Stone-by."

      "Ye didn't happen to see aught o' that Pippany Webster?" asked Uscroft. "Ye know him—a shammockin' sort o' chap—I've seen you talkin' to him i' this kitchen."

      The fish-man dropped his eyes and inclined his face towards the table at which he sat. He lifted his mug of ale, and hid most of his countenance with it. When he set it down he had collected his ideas.. He would have been glad to have seen something of Pippany Webster, for since three o'clock on Monday morning, when Pippany should have met him with a supply of rabbits and had failed to do so, thereby causing him much inconvenience, he had been wondering where his recently-made business connection was. But his face was blank, and his eyes were innocent as he faced Uscroft and shook his head.

      "No, I saw naught of no Websters," he answered. "I know the man you mean—slack-set sort o' chap, as you say. What should he be doing over at Stoneby, Mister?"

      "Nay," said Uscroft indifferently, "it's naught. Only I gave t' man a job o' thackin last week, and he's never been near it neither yesterday or to-day, and a neighbour of his just said to me that he'd very like gone to Stoneby to see his rellytives; and, as ye come through there, I thought ye might ha' seen him there, in t' street or in t' public."

      "No," said the fish-man. "I see naught of him at Stoneby, neither in street nor public-house."

      Uscroft glanced across to the other side of the kitchen and caught the gamekeeper's eye.

      "I reckon ye've seen naught of him i' yer peregrinations?" he said, with a sly movement of an eye-lid. "Ye chaps is supposed to cover a deal o' country."

      "Not to look for such as him, sir," answered the gamekeeper promptly. "Something better to do than that, Mr. Uscroft."

      Uscroft turned and winked at the fish-man.

      "Why, I don't know, keeper," he said, with the half-sneering intonation of a man who wishes to tease another. "I don't know. I reckon yon Webster could snare a rabbit or two as well as anybody else. What do ye say, fish-seller?"

      The fish-seller hastily drank what remained of his ale and rose, tightening the waist-belt of the blue-and-white apron which covered his trousers.

      "I've no doubt he could, mister; I've no doubt he could," he answered. "Like a bit of nice fish leaving at your places, gentlemen, as I go by? Fine piece of codfish this morning."

      Neither farmer nor gamekeeper made any response to this attempt to do business, and the fish-man accordingly retreated, and was presently heard vociferating his wares as he drove his pony and cart up the street. Uscroft laughed.

      "I'll lay yon man takes more nor a few o' rabbit skins out o' t' village, Justice," he said. "More rabbits nor what ye and us farmers shoots, what?"

      "And I dare say you farmers give your men a rabbit or two now and then," retorted the gamekeeper.

      Uscroft rubbed his chin.

      "I don't," he answered. "But it so chanced 'at I were ridin' home down yon Spittle Lane one day, and I come across t' fish-seller yonder sortin' rabbit-skins on t' roadside, and it struck me 'at there must be a deal o' rabbits eaten i' Martinsthorpe. No doubt ye know more about that nor what I do."

      The gamekeeper, a sturdy, black-bearded man of fifty, who had the reputation of caring much more for his ease than for rigorous carrying out of his duties, threw down the newspaper and picked up his gun.

      "I don't tell everybody all that I know, Mr. Uscroft," he said, "There's such a thing as professional secrets, sir."

      "Same as what lawyers talks about," sneered Uscroft. "Aye, I expect there is. It's a good term, is that. Professional secrets, say you?—aye, a good term."

      The gamekeeper made no answer. He marched heavily out of the inn, with the lurcher following closely at his heels, and turned up the high-road which led away from the village in a southerly direction. Pre-. sently he passed through a gate, and began to cross the fields towards the eastward until he came to the brow of the hill beneath which lay Pippany Webster's isolated cottage, and the clusters of little houses which were gathered around the chapel. Then, leaning over a fence, he lighted his pipe, and stared at the scene below him, thinking of what he had just heard. There was a strong vein of fussy inquisitiveness in his nature, and it was not long before he got over the fence and made his way behind protecting hedgerows to the cottage at which he had been gazing. And as he passed out of a gap in the hedge close to it he became aware of the presence of Mrs. Graddige, who was peering through the window with a manifest desire of seeing as much as possible of the interior.

      Justice made a clicking sound with his tongue which caused Mrs. Graddige to leap hurriedly from an inverted flower-pot on which she had elevated herself. She uttered a sharp scream, and clapped a hand to her bosom.

      "Massy on us, mestur, how ye did frighten me!" she exclaimed. "Ye've given me a real turn."

      The gamekeeper laughed. Not a native of those parts, but from a southern county, he had a contempt for the Martinsthorpe folk which he was unable to repress, and delighted in showing his superior wit.

      "Thought it was the policeman, I expect, missis," he said, coming up to the window. "What 're you wanting to break into your neighbour's cottage for?"

      "I'm none wantin' to break in nor to break off," retorted Tibby Graddige. "I've a better place o' mi own nor what this is, mestur. I were lookin' in to see if there's owt to be seen o' that poor man. He's mestur—niver been to his work to-day nor yesterday, so Mestur Uscroft's been tellin' me, as came to seek him. An' after Mestur Uscroft had gone, it occurred to me 'at happen Webster had been ta'en wi' fit o' appleplexy, or summat o' that sort, and were lyin' here helpless, d'ye see, mestur?"

      Justice stepped on the flower-pot which Mrs. Graddige had so suddenly vacated, and looked through the dirty, uncurtained window. By moving his head about from one pane to another he obtained a full view of the interior of Pippany Webster's living-room. On the table in the centre stood the crockery which Pippany had used for his Sunday afternoon tea; in the rusty fire-grate were the grey-and-white ashes of the fire which had burnt itself out after his departure. Everything looked lost and desolate, and suggestive of something which the gamekeeper, a sharp-witted man, could not exactly define. He stepped down from the flower-pot and looked up at the bedroom window.

      "There's nothing but that one room up there, missis, is there?" he asked. "Or is there another at the back?"

      "No, there's naught but t' one sleepin' cha'mer," answered Mrs. Graddige, who was already under the influence of a delightful sense of mystery. "Eh, dear, mestur, what a dreadful thing it 'ud be if t' poor man wor lyin' on his bed theer, passed away!"

      The gamekeeper looked about the bit of garden in which they stood, hopeful of seeing some sort of a ladder lying beneath the fruit-trees or the hedgerows. Seeing nothing, he went round to the back of the cottage, Mrs. Graddige and the lurcher in close attendance. And then, casting an upward glance, he saw that there was a window at the back as well as at the front of the cottage, and that beneath it was a lean-to shed which formed a sort of scullery. He laid aside his gun.

      "Now we can get a look in," he said, and began to climb to the roof of the lean-to. "We'll soon see if he's in there, missis, dead or alive."

      While Mrs. Graddige watched and waited in breathless expectancy, the lurcher, relieved of attendance upon his master's heels began to inspect the back-garden. He ran about here and there, sniffing and investigating, until СКАЧАТЬ