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

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      "Day, mum," he said. "I come for them two bullocks 'at Mestur Perris selled to our gaffer, yesterday. Here's t' order for 'livery."

      Rhoda took the greasy scrap of paper, and stared at Perris's handwriting as if she scarcely comprehended its meaning.

      "He said, did Mestur Perris, 'at he mightn't be at home this afternoon," continued the drover, "so I were to show that bit o' writin' to eyther you or t' lad, mum. I know t' bullocks when I see 'em, mum."

      Rhoda glanced at Taffendale. Taffendale nodded. "Very well," she said to the man. "You'll find them in the fold."

      Taffendale followed the drover down the yard. "How much did your master give Mr. Perris apiece for these bullocks, Tom?" he asked with affected carelessness. "I've got a few to sell if prices are decent."

      "He gev' sixteen-ten for one, and fifteen for t'other, sir," answered the drover. Then he laughed softly. "But yeer stock's a bit diff'rent fro' what this is, Mestur Taffendale," he said, slyly. "This is nobbut poor stuff, sir."

      Taffendale went back to the house, where Rhoda still stood staring about her as if she neither saw nor understood anything.

      "That's another thirty pounds he's got with him," he said, with a harsh laugh. "So he's gone off with nearly two hundred capital. And—and I don't see what's to stop him."

      "He found something out," said Rhoda. "He found something out. I'm sure that was it. He found something out!"

      Taffendale made no answer, and Rhoda presently turned to the window, and leaning over the sill looked over the flower-pots into the fold without. The wagoner was carrying away the wheat out of one gate, and the drover was driving off the bullocks from another.

Chapter XV

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      Justice went away from the Limepits with a determination to hold his tongue. He would bide his time. He had made a mistake: he had been over-hasty. But he would wait; he would watch. He had more then an ordinary share of commonsense, and he believed that he would win more in the end by waiting than by making a hurried attack. He walked home thinking over his future plans: there was a friend of his, a sharp-witted attorney's clerk, in the market-town, whom he would consult; they would put their heads together over this affair, with a view to the utter confounding of Mr. Mark Taffendale. In the meantime he would not say a word of what he knew to any man or woman in Martinsthorpe; he would preserve such a silence as he was rarely accustomed to keep. But when the gamekeeper went down to the Dancing Bear that evening for his nightly recreation, he speedily became aware that there was something afoot. At the cross-roads, in front of the inn, the groups of men and lads which congregated there when the day's work was over were obviously moved and excited by unusual news; a buzz and cackle of gossip hovered round and ran from one to the other. The young labourer who had replaced Pippany Webster had known no reason for keeping his tongue quiet, and he had talked freely since his return to the village from the scene of his labours.

      Justice stopped a man who was slouching across the open space to the back-door of the inn.

      "What's the matter, Jack—what're they talking about?" he asked.

      The man shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

      "Nay, they say 'at Perris, yonder, up at t' Cherry-trees, has run away," he answered. "Bill Tatten, him 'at works theer since Pippany wor' turned away, browt t' news. Selled all t' stuff offen t' place, and seemin'ly ta'en his departure, as it wor."

      Justice said nothing in reply to this, and the informant, finding him silent, passed on to the kitchen wherein those labourers who had twopence to spend congregated around the deal tables. The gamekeeper wanted time to think before joining his own coterie. He began to wish more ardently than ever that he had not been in such haste to wait upon Mr. Taffendale that morning. And before he went into the Dancing Bear out of the darkness which was fast stealing over the village, he had resolved to know nothing and to have heard no more than what had just been told him.

      In a certain room of the inn, between parlour and kitchen, the room in which Perris and his companions had made merry on the rent-day, a select assemblage of the Martinsthorpe men met every evening. At that hour of the day the kitchen was given up to the labourers; the parlour was reserved to one or two of the better class of farmers, and to folk who chanced to be riding or driving along the high-road. In the intermediate room assembled the blacksmith, the carpenter, the miller, and the farmers of Perris's standing; with these the gamekeeper, at first received with some reserve and shyness because of his south country origin and vastly different speech, had finally made himself at home through his habits of good-fellowship and his ability to tell a good tale and sing a good song. There were four or five of the usual fraternity there when he walked in on this occasion, and he saw at once they were discussing Perris's disappearance as eagerly as the men and lads outside. Justice, not wishing to show himself entirely ignorant, threw out a question as he dropped into his accustomed seat.

      "What's all this about Perris, gentlemen?" he asked. "I just heard that he's made himself what the Latin scholars term non est; which means that he isn't where he should be—at home."

      The blacksmith, who by virtue of seniority occupied the best seat by the fire, took his churchwarden pipe out of his mouth and spat into the glowing coals.

      "Ne'er mind what t' Latin scholards says, nor t' Greek scholards, neyther," he observed. "I know what t' English on it is. Happen I heerd summat about it before onnybody Martinsthorpe."

      "Well, what?" asked Justice, leisurely filling his pipe.

      "I were i' t' kitchen theer hevin' a glass when yon man o' Mestur Mawson's come in for a bit o' bread-and-cheese," continued the blacksmith. "An' sits hissen down at t' side o' me. An' he says, says he, 'I think theer's summat queer up yonder at t' Cherry-trees,' he says. 'How so?' says I. 'Why,' he says, 'Perris, he sell'd our maister his new wheat yesterda', and it wor settled 'at I should fetch it to-day,' he says, 'and when I got theer just now,' he says, 'Perris worn't theer, and his wife knew nowt about it, and I made out 'at she's niver set ees on him sin' yesterda',' he says. 'An' she wodn't let me tak' t' wheat till she'd sent for Mestur Taffendale to tak' his counsel on t' matter.' 'Did yeer maister pay for t' wheat?' says I. 'Aye, he did, an' i' my presence, over a hundred pound,' he says, 'an' I hev Perris's orders for t' delivery i' case he worn't at home, an' here it is,' he says, showin' t' bit o' paper. 'Why, then, ye're all reight,' I says, 'whatever Taffendale counsels or doesn't counsel.'"

      "Aye, it's reight, is that," observed the carpenter, with an air of great wisdom. "So long as Mestur Mawson hed paid for t' stuff, his man hed a reight to fetch it."

      "An' did Taffendale come to t' Cherry-trees then?" asked the miller. "An' what hed he to do wi' it, when all's said an' done? I niver heerd 'at t' Perrises wor owt to Taffendale."

      The blacksmith again spat into the fire and wagged his head.

      "Now, then, ye wait a bit!" he said. "I hevn't tell'd all t' tale yet. That's nobbut t' first chapter, like. I heerd what happened when Mestur Mawson's man went back to t' Cherry-trees. Taffendale was there, talkin' to t' wife ower t' orchard hedge. An', of course, theer wor nowt to be said—t' man wor in his reights to carry t' wheat away wi' him, and so Taffendale said. An' while he wor agate, this here man o Mestur Mawson's, gettin' t' wheat out o' t' granary, wi' yon theer Bill Tatten to help him, up comes a chap to drive off two young beasts, bullocks, 'at he said Perris hed Belled to his gaffer, Claybourne, t' butcher, t' day afore. An' they hed to go an' all, 'cos they'd been СКАЧАТЬ