Starvecrow Farm Part 31

"Because, miss," he said, "we think there's a shorter way to them.

Because we think you can tell us where they are if you choose."

"I can tell you where they are?" she repeated.

"Yes, miss. We believe that you can--if you choose. And you _must_ choose."

The girl stared. Then slowly she comprehended. She grasped the fact that they addressed the question to her, that they believed that she was at one with the men who had done this. And a change as characteristic of her nature as it was unexpected by those who watched her, swept over her face. Her features quivered, and, even as when Anthony Clyne's proposal wounded her pride to the quick, she turned from them, and bowing her head on her hands broke into weeping.

They were all taken aback. They had looked some for one thing, some for another; some for rage and scorn, some for sullen denial. No one had foreseen this breakdown. Nor was it welcome. Nadin found himself checked on the threshold of success, and swore under his breath.

Bishop, who had broken a lance with her before, and was more or less tender-hearted, looked vexed. Mr. Sutton showed open distress--her weeping hurt him, and at every quiver of her slight, girlish figure he winced. While Mrs. Gilson frowned; perhaps at the clumsiness and witlessness of men-folk. But she did not interfere, and the chaplain dared not interfere: and Nadin was left to deal with the girl as he pleased.

"There, miss," he said, speaking a little less harshly, "tears mend no bones. And there's one thing clear in this and not to be denied--the men who have taken the lad are friends of your friend. And not a doubt he's in it. We've traced them to a place not three hundred yards from here. They've vanished where he vanished, and there's no need of magic to tell that the same hole hides all. I was on the track of the men with a warrant--for they are d----d Radicals as ever were!--when they slipped off and played this pretty trick by the way. Whether they have kidnapped the lad out of revenge, or for a hostage, I'm in the dark.

But put-up job or not, you are not the young lady to back up such doings. I see that with half an eye," he added cunningly, "and therefore----"

"Have you got it from her?"

Nadin turned with a frown--the interruption came from Mr. h.o.r.n.yold.

The justice had just entered, and stood booted, spurred, and pompous on the threshold. He carried his heavy riding-whip, and was in all points ready for the road.

"No, not yet," Nadin answered curtly, "but----"

"You'd better; let me try her, then," the magistrate rejoined, all fussiness and importance. "There's no time to be lost. We're getting together. I've a dozen mounted men in the yard, and they are coming in from Rydal side. We shall have two score in an hour. We'll have the hills scoured before nightfall, and long before Captain Clyne is here."

"Quite so, squire," Nadin replied drily. "But if the young lady will tell us where the scoundrel lies we'll be spared the trouble. Now, miss," he continued, forgetting, under the impetus of h.o.r.n.yold's manner, the more diplomatic line he had been following, "we've a d----d clear case against you, and that's flat. We can trace you to where they landed last night, and we know that you were there within a few minutes of the time; for we've their footsteps from the boat to the wood above the road, and your footsteps from the boat to the inn.

There is as much evidence of aiding and abetting as would transport a dozen men! So do you be wise, and tell us straight off what we want."

But two words had caught her ear.

"Aiding and abetting?" she muttered. And she turned her eyes, still bright with tears, upon him. Her flushed face and ruffled hair gave her a strangely childish appearance. "Aiding and abetting? Do you mean that you think that I--that I had anything to do with taking the child?"

"No, no," Bishop murmured hurriedly, and cast a warning look at his colleague. "No, no, not knowingly."

"Nay, but that depends," Nadin persisted obstinately. His fibre was coa.r.s.er, and his perceptions were less acute. It was his habit to gain his ends by fear, and he was unwilling to lose the hold he had over her. "That depends," he repeated doggedly. "If you speak and tell us all you know, of course not. But if you do not speak, we shall take it against you."

"You will take it," she cried, "that I--I helped to steal the child?"

"Just so, if you don't speak," Nadin repeated, disregarding his fellow's signals. Firmness, he was sure, was all that was needed. Just firmness.

She was silent in great agitation. They suspected her! Oh, it was wicked, it was vile of them! She would not have touched a hair of the child's head. And they suspected Walterson; but it might be as falsely, it must be as falsely. Yet if she gave him up, even if he were innocent he would suffer. He would suffer on other charges, and she would have his blood on her hands though she had so often, so often, resolved that she would not be driven to that!

They asked too much of her. They asked her to betray the man to death on the chance--and she did not believe in the chance--that it would restore the child to its father. She shuddered as she thought of the child, as she thought of Anthony Clyne's grief; she would willingly have done much to help the one and the other. But they asked too much.

If it were anything short of the man's life that they asked, she would be guided, she would do as they bade her. But this step was irrevocable: and she was asked to take it on a chance. Possibly they did not themselves believe in the chance. Possibly they made the charge for their own purposes, their aim to get the man into their power, the blood-money into their purse. She shuddered at that and found the dilemma cruel. But she had no doubt which course she must follow. No longer did any thought of herself or of the annoyances of his arrest weigh with her: thought of the child had outweighed all that. But she would not without proof, without clear proof, have the man's blood on her hands.

And regarding them with a pale set face,

"If you have proof," she said, "that he--Walterson--" she p.r.o.nounced the name with an effort--"was concerned in carrying off the child, I will speak."

"Proof?" Nadin barked.

"Yes," she said. "If you can satisfy me that he was privy to this--I will tell you all I know."

Nadin exploded.

"Proof?" he cried with violence. "Why, by G--d, was he not at the place where we know the men landed? And didn't you expect to meet him there? And at the very hour?"

"He was not there," she cried.

"But----"

"And I was there," she continued, "yet I know nothing. I am innocent."

"Umph! I don't know!" Nadin growled.

"But I do," she replied. "If your proof comes only to that---"

"But the men who took the child are old mates of his!"

"How do you know?" she returned. "You did not see them. They may not be the men you wished to arrest. But," scornfully, "I see what kind of proof you have, and I shall not tell you."

"Come, miss," Bishop said, staying with difficulty Nadin's furious answer. "Come, miss, think! Think again. Think of the child!"

"Oh, sink the child," the Manchester officer struck in. He had seldom been so handled. "Think of yourself!"

"You will send me to prison?" she said.

"By heaven we will!" he answered. And Mr. h.o.r.n.yold nodded.

"It must be so, then," she replied with dignity. "I shall not speak. I have no right to speak."

They all cried out on her, Bishop and Mr. Sutton appealing to her, Nadin growling oaths, Mr. h.o.r.n.yold threatening that he would make out the warrant that minute. Only the landlady, with her ap.r.o.n rolled round her arms, stood grim and silent; a looker-on whose taciturnity presently irritated Nadin beyond bearing. "I suppose you think," he said, turning to her, "that you could have handled her better?"

"I couldn't ha' handled her worse!" the landlady replied.

"You think yourself a Solomon!" he sneered.

"A girl of ten's a Solomon to you!" the landlady retorted keenly. "It canna be for this, it surely canna be for this, Joe Nadin, that they pay you money at Manchester, and that 'tis said you go in risk of your life! Why, that Bishop, London chap as he is, is a greybeard beside you. He does know that Bl.u.s.ter is a good dog but Softly is better!"

"Well, as I live by bread I'll have her in the Stone Jug!" he retorted. "And then we'll see!"

"There's another will see before you!" Mrs. Gilson answered drily.

"And it strikes me he's not far off. If you'd left her alone for just an hour and seen what his honour Captain Clyne could do with her, you'd have shown your sense!" shrugging her shoulders. "Now, I fear you've spoiled his market, my lad!"

CHAPTER XIX

AT THE FARM