LITMIR.BIZ

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Ye mind that."

      One of the small farmers, who had steadily consumed cold gin, and preserved an attentive silence while the blacksmith talked, now broke in upon the discussion, prefacing his remarks with a sly smile.

      "Why it seems a varry queer thing to me, gentlemen, 'at Perris an' yon theer Pippany Webster should ha' disappeared 'at about t' same time," he observed. "Theer is, of course, what they terms coincidences, but I niver heerd tell o' one occurrin' i' a little out-o'-t'-way place like Martinsthorpe before."

      "Didn't yer?" grunted the blacksmith contemptuously. "A'but, them things occurs onny wheer. T' size o' t' place hes nowt to do wi' it. An' I don't believe 'at it is onny coincidence, as t' term goes, i' this case. It's my opinion theer's a plot o' some sort—a consperracy."

      The miller started.

      "What, summat like t' Gunpowder Plot!" he exclaimed. "Ye wodn't go so far as to say it resembled that theer?"

      "Niver ye mind," said the blacksmith. "Ye'll see 'at we're nobbut at t' beginnin' o' this here mystery."

      "That's t' reight word," said the carpenter. "Aye, it's indeed t' reight word, is that theer. Mystery! That's t' reight word, gentlemen—Mystery!"

      To make some endeavour to solve the mystery, there presently appeared at Cherry-trees John William Perris, to whom Rhoda had written asking if he had any news of Abel. He arrived in the mourning garments which he had put on in the expectation of hearing that his Uncle George had left him at least a thousand pounds, and his countenance was doleful and perplexed. And after he had spent an hour with Rhoda, who had taken Tibby Graddige into her house to keep her company, he walked across to the Limepits to call upon Taffendale. Taffendale chanced to meet him outside and took him into the parlour and gave him spiritual refreshment, inwardly wondering if it would be possible to find anywhere in the world two brothers who looked so slackly set up and so obviously unfit as Abel and John William Perris. He offered John William a cigar, and left him to open the conversation.

      "I'm sore put to it to understand how it is that my poor brother's disappeared like this here, Mr. Taffendale, sir," said John William Perris. "Us Perrises has always been a very straight-livin' lot, sir, ever since I can remember, and by all I can gather o' what happened to us i' previous ages. It's a very surprisin' matter, sir, is this here. Of course, I understand, Mr. Taffendale, that you've been uncommon good to 'em, and that Abel was beginnin' to prosper a bit, thanks to you, and it makes it all the more unaccountable, as it were. How would you be for reckonin' of it up, sir?"

      "I'm not for reckoning it up at all," answered Taffendale. "The facts are plain enough. Your brother realised as much money as he could on what he had to sell, and off he went with the money. That's the long and the short of it."

      John William Perris rubbed his sandy stubble which grew on his weak chin with the tip of a black-gloved finger.

      "Yes, I expect that's the long and the short of it, sir," he said. "You couldn't put it no straighter, Mr. Taffendale. But—what's to become of Abel's wife, sir?"

      Taffendale made no answer.

      "Because, you see, Mr. Taffendale, things can't bide as they are," continued John William. "They'll develop, as it were, in some way."

      Taffendale was as well aware of that fact as his visitor, and when he had gone he repeated the phrase to himself, and cursed the evil of unfortunate circumstances, which was growing tighter and stronger. He felt that there was trouble in the air. But he knew nothing definite, until an old farmer from Martinsthorpe drew him aside one day in the market-town.

      "Mark," he said, "I'm afraid there's going to be unpleasantness for you. Do you know what they're saying?"

      Taffendale turned on him in a fury of irritation.

      "Saying? Who's saying?" he exclaimed. "What're they saying?"

      "They're saying that you and Perris's wife were carrying on before he went off, and that that's why he went off," said the old man, eyeing him steadily. "It's all over the village."

      Taffendale turned white with anger.

      "Damn them!—let them talk!" he said. "Do you think I care what Martinsthorpe folk say? Let them talk!"

      But as he went down the market-place he caught sight of Justice, as he walked across and confronted him.

      "Now, then, you!" he said, with concentrated fury in his tone. "You've been talking. I warned you I'd break you if you talked. You've been talking, I say, damn you!"

      Justice drew himself up and looked the lime-burner squarely in the face.

      "I've never opened my lips on the matter, Mr. Taffendale," he said. "There was no need, sir. I found out that others knew more than I did."

      And he passed on, leaving Taffendale more furious than ever.

Chapter XVI

       Table of Contents

      When the gamekeeper had remarked to Taffendale at their meeting on the lip of the quarry that there was such a thing as public opinion, Taffendale had laughed acornfully. Public opinion, as represented by the ideas and feelings of Martinsthorpe, was naught to him. He was not of the Martinsthorpe community: he never mixed with even the better sort of its members, except on the half-yearly rent-day. Leaving out two or three of the principal farmers he could buy up the whole of Martinsthorpe with ease. He had no Martinsthorpe folk in his employ; his lime-burners were a separate and peculiar race; his farm-labourers, who all lived in his house, were invariably engaged by him at distant statute-hiring fairs. Between the people of Martinsthorpe and himself there had always been a gulf. He never went to church; never attended any parish meeting or social gathering; never identified himself with the village in any way. And when he heard Justice's veiled hint he said to himself that he was not going to begin the practice of regarding the public opinion of Martinsthorpe. Let its people think what they liked, and say what they thought: he cared not.

      Nevertheless, early on the morning following his meeting with the old farmer in the market-town, Taffendale, white-hot with temper and rage, rode his horse into the cobble-paved yard which lay in front of the blacksmith's forge, and called loudly to the two apprentices for their master. The blacksmith, just then eating his breakfast in his cottage beyond the forge, heard the loud and insistent voice, and emerged from his porch, calmly wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He leaned over his garden gate, and stared Taffendale hard and full in the face.

      "Mornin', Mestur Taffendale," he said quietly. Taffendale glared angrily at the blacksmith from between the ears of his panting horse.

      "Now, then," he said, not condescending to any greeting or preface, "what were you saying about me at the Dancing Bear the other night?"

      "Nowt but what's true," retorted the blacksmith. Taffendale set his teeth, and with a touch of his spur urged the horse a yard or two nearer.

      "Damn you!" he said. "Do you know there's such a thing as law in this country?"

      "Aye, I do!" said the blacksmith. "An' what bi' that?"

      "You'll find yourself in its clutches if you don't mind what you're doing!" replied Taffendale threateningly. "And your daughter, too. Do you hear what I say?"

      "Aye, I do hear what ye say, and I don't care one o' them damns 'at ye're so fond o' throwin' about for what ye say," answered the blacksmith stoutly. "An' I'll tell ye to your face, Mestur Taffendale, what I said at t' Dancin' Bear. I said 'at when my dowter Lucilla wor in your service she were made aware 'at Perris's wife visited you late at night on two occasions, and were alone wi' you in your parlour, and 'at on one occasion ye went out wi' her and wor away fro' your house for over two hour. And that's t' truth, Mestur Taffendale, and ye knows it's t' truth, and it can be proved. An' ye can ride into t' town and tak' t' law o' me as much as ye like. I know who's t' most to lose. I don't carry on wi' other men's wives, onnyway."

      Taffendale stared at the man who could show such bold defiance. The isolated and lonely life

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