The Parson O' Dumford Part 51

"Aw raight, parson," was the cry; and the men left the pit to proceed along the road, the vicar on in front, so as to reach The Four Alls.

Before they had gone far they encountered the rest of their party, returning without further success than that of making the announcement that the men they sought had called there about nine, and had then gone on, being taken up for a lift by a man with a cart.

"What man, and what cart?" said one of the police constables, who had now come up.

The men did not know, and this being an important point, the whole party now hastened on to the little roadside inn--a shabby, dilapidated place, whose shed at the side, which represented the stabling, was falling away from the house, and whose premises generally seemed to be arranged by the owner as places for storing rubbish, dirt, and green sc.u.mmed pools of water. There was a cart with one wheel, and a mangy horse with one eye, and apparently a ragged hen with one leg, but she put down another, made a low-spirited remark evidently relating to stolen eggs, and went off pecking here and there in a disconsolate manner, as if her search for food were one of the most hopeless pursuits under the sun. There was a garden, roughly fenced in, by the side of the house; but its crop consisted of last year's gray cabbage-stumps; while, but for the sign over the door, nearly defaced, but having visible the words "wines and spirituous," the place could hardly have been taken for a place of refreshment, even though the occupant of this attractive spot stood at the door, showing the potency of the said "wines and spirituous" liquors in his reddened and blotched face, as he leaned against the door-post, smoking a long clay pipe, and staring lazily at the party who now came up.

"Can you give us any information about the two men who came here last night?" said the vicar.

"Say?" said the man, staring.

"Gentleman wants to know wheer them chaps is gone," said the constable.

"How should I know?" said the man, surlily. "Californy or Roosalum, for owt I know."

"No nonsense, Brumby," said the constable. "You'd best speak out. Who wheer they?"

"Friends o' mine," said the man, taking his pipe out of his mouth for a moment, to relieve himself of a tremendous volume of smoke.

"What were their names?"

"How should I know? They come here, and has a bit o' rafrashment, and they goes again. What do I keer, so long as they wares their money."

"Who had they got wi' 'em?"

"n.o.bbut their own sens."

"But I mean when they comed."

"Look ye here, I hadn't going to answer all your queshtons."

"Well, look here; had they any one wi' 'em when they went away?"

"n.o.bbat theer own sens," said the man, sulkily.

"Well, who gave them a lift?"

"Don't know, on'y as it weer a man in a cart."

"But you must ha' seen his name."

"No, I musn't if it wern't painted on," bawled the man. "What d'yer come wherretin' me for about it? I don't ask my customers who comes in for a gill o' ale wheer they come from, nor wheer they're going."

"Had they a young girl with them?" said the vicar, who was getting out of patience.

"Not as I know on," said the man. "One had n.o.bbut a whip."

There was evidently nothing to be got out of him, so the party returned to Dumford, the policeman undertaking to communicate by telegraph with the towns through which the men would be likely to pa.s.s, as this would be the surest and quickest way.

As the day wore on, the other parties returned to a.s.semble and discuss the matter; though there was little to discuss, for Joe Banks had returned without a trace being found of his child, and the same ill fortune had attended Podmore and Richard Glaire.

The latter, soon as he reached home, however, sought Mrs Glaire, who was lying down, apparently ill at ease, with Eve in attendance upon her, the young girl rising with a s.h.i.+ver as her cousin entered the room, and leaving without encountering his eyes.

"Where is Daisy Banks, mother?" said Richard, hoa.r.s.ely, as soon as they were alone. "I've kept up this foolery of searching all day, to quiet these people, and now I insist upon knowing where she is."

"I should ask you that," said Mrs Glaire, angrily; "but if I did I should not learn the truth. Where have you taken her?"

"Taken her?" said Richard, savagely. "Where should I take her? You know I was at home all last night."

"Where you had planned to take her," said Mrs Glaire, coldly.

"I planned!" cried Richard. "Why, I left her with you. Plans, indeed!"

"Daisy Banks was not with me ten minutes," said Mrs Glaire, quietly.

"I said plans, because--"

"Because what?" cried Richard. "Do you wish me to tell you?"

"Yes, if you have anything to tell."

"Because you paid that chattering a.s.s, Slee, to carry letters to and fro, between you and Daisy, after you had given me your word of honour that you would see her no more. Because you then, after gradually bringing the silly girl over to your purposes, paid or bribed, which you will, Simeon Slee, the man who has been one of the projectors of this wretched strike, to act as your pander to take this girl off to London, to await your coming. It is your doing; so now you had better seek her."

"How did you know all this?"

"How did I know?" said Mrs Glaire, contemptuously. "How are such things known? You leaned upon a bruised reed, and it broke and entered your hand."

"Did Sim Slee tell you all this, then?" said Richard, stamping with fury.

"Yes; and he would have told me long ago, had I given him what the knave wants--money."

"A treacherous scoundrel!" cried Richard; "trusting him as I did."

"You knew him to be a treacherous, prating scoundrel, so why did you trust him?"

"Because I was a fool," roared the young man, biting his nails with rage.

"Exactly; because you were a fool, and because no honest man would help you to be guilty of the great sin you meant to commit, of stealing the daughter of the man who had been your father's best friend--the man who helped him to make his fortune. Scoundrels are necessary to do scoundrels' work."

"But he cheated me," cried Richard; "he took my money, and he has not performed his promise."

"Of course not," said Mrs Glaire. "But when did you know this?" cried Richard.

"You own to it, then?" cried Mrs Glaire, gazing sharply at him.

"Never mind whether I own it or not. A scoundrel! I'll serve him out for this."

"I have known it only a few hours," said Mrs Glaire, sinking back on her couch, and watching the young man, as he stamped up and down the room.

"But he has thrown me over," cried Richard. "I don't know where the girl is."