Mallins stood where Perris had left him, still watching. He shook his head, and presently taking off his flat-topped billycock, produced a highly-coloured handkerchief and polished his forehead. By the time he had replaced handkerchief and hat his thoughts had collected themselves and his mind was made up. He advanced towards Perris, who was again left outside the crowd, and he boldly tapped him on the shoulder.
"It's no use, Perris," he said. "I know yer—ye're t' man. I know yer, for all 'at ye've grown that theer beard. An' I don't want to shove misen on to ye, nor onny other man, but—hevn't ye heerd t' news about ye're wife?"
Perris, who had averted his face at Mallins's second approach, turned sharply.
"I've heerd nowt," he muttered. "Nowt! An' didn't want!"
Mallins opened his mouth in sheer astonishment. Unconsciously he laid a hand on Perris's arm and drew him aside.
"What!" he exclaimed. "D'ye mean to tell me 'at ye don't know? Don't ye read t' newspaper?" Perris shook his head sullenly.
"I niver read t' newspaper," he replied. "I know nowt."
Mallins drew him still further away, and his voice sank to a whisper.
"What!" he said. "Don't ye know what's happened to ye're wife?"
"Tell yer I know nowt," repeated Perris, with stubborn insistence.
Mallins drew back and looked at Perris in undisguised wonder. Then he advanced again, speaking in a loud whisper.
"She's i' danger o' bein' hanged!" he said.
Perris frowned. He had begun tapping the stones at their feet with the ferrule of his ashplant, and the tapping grew more insistent.
"For why?" he asked.
"Why, for t' murder o' yon Pippany Webster, 'at used to work for ye!" answered Mallins sharply. "Gow niver heerd t' like o' this here! I couldn't ha' believed 'at ye'd niver heerd on it. It's all t' talk o.' t' countryside, man. But I reckon 'at them as lives i' London niver hears nowt o' what's going on down i' our parts. Howsomiver, Perris, that's t' Gospil truth. Gow!—I niver knew owt like this—it fair caps me!"
Perris stood like a man who has just awakened from some strange and unnatural sleep. He stared about him—at the people, the houses round the market, at the great tower in its centre, at the sky, the ground; finally, he turned to Mallins.
"Tell about it," he said dully. "I know nowt."
Mallins again took off his hat and rubbed his head.
"I'll tell ye all I know," he replied, "if ye'll come and tak' a glass somewhere, quiet, like. I'm fair moydered wi' this here—niver hed such a surprise in mi life. I'm ditherin'!—wheer can we tak' a glass i' comfort?"
Without answer Perris made a sidelong motion of his head, and began to make his way through the crowd. He led Mallins across the market to one of the great taverns which stand at its corners, and passing into its recesses with the knowledge of one well accustomed to them, piloted him into an empty room. He maintained his silence until he and his companion had been provided with a generous measure of spirits; even then, he waited for Mallins to speak.
"Well, it's a reight dinger is this, Perris!" said Mallins at last. "Ye tell me 'at ye know nowt o' t' matter?"
"I've heerd nowt o' that part o' t' world sin' I left it," answered Perris. "An' didn't want to, neyther."
Mallins settled himself comfortably in his chair, his lips close to Perris's ear.
"Well, ye've a deal to learn, then," he said. "Ye see, it's o' this way. Of course, ye'll understand 'at as I don't farm i' Martinsthorpe, I only hear t' countryside gossip, as it weer, when I go to market, but I think I've gotten t' tale reight. Ye see, Perris, mi lad, efter ye went away theer sprang up a deal o' talk about ye're wife an' yon theer Mestur Taffendale o' t' Limepits Farm, an' it was set about 'at her an' him wor ower friendly. It wor established 'at she'd visited him late at night at his house, when all t' rest wor i' bed, and so on, and so on—ye know—an' t' village folk talked, as they will, and finally it wor decided to ride t' stang for 'em."
"Aye?" exclaimed Perris wonderingly. "An' did they?"
"Did they? Aye, I should think they did an' all!" answered Mallins. "They tell'd me 'at such a do was niver known i' Martinsthorpe. They went up to t' Cherry-trees first, and somehow or other t' place wor set on fire, and it wor burnt to t' ground. If ye went back theer, Perris, ye wodn't know t' place. All 'at wor on t' premises wor burnt—t' live stock an' all."
Perris made no remark. He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his stick, his drink untasted at his side, staring at a framed advertisement on the dingy wall opposite—listening.
"An' then," continued Mallins, "then they went on to t' Limepits. One o' t' stang-riders wor killed dead theer—some said bi Taffendale hissen: howsomiver, nowt came o' that. An' Taffendale's stackgarth got o' fire, and ivery stack wor burnt—over forty on 'em. Aye!—such a night theer niver wor i' Martinsthorpe, so they say."
"Well?" said Perris, as Mallins paused to drink. "An'—efter?"
"Why, efter that things seemed to settle down a bit," said Mallins. "Ye're wife wor taken in bi Taffendale and his housekeeper, as is some sort o' relation to him, and there she bided. Then Taffendale took that land 'at ye hed, and another lot next to it, and t' steward agreed to build some labourers' cottages wheer ye're place wor. An' theer wor a deal to do about t' water supply, and one day they opened out an owd well—"
Perris turned to his glass and suddenly drank off its contents. He got up and rang the bell.
"Here, ye mun tak' a glass wi' me, Mestur Mallins," he said, as a barman appeared. "Two more o' t' same, young man. Aye," he continued, when the barman had served them and had disappeared again, "aye, an owd well, ye were sayin'?"
"An owd well," repeated Mallins. "An' theer they foun' t' body o' this Pippany Webster. An' of course theer wor the Crowner's 'Quest on it, an' all sorts o' what they call evidence started comin' out. It were proved 'at this Pippany wor i' possession o' facts about ye're wife an' Taffendale. Then it were proved 'at Pippany wor seen to go to ye're house on a certain Sunday night and wor niver seen efter bi onnybody t' village. An' one thing an' another come up—more nor I know on—and now, all t' talk is 'at it wor your wife 'at murdered Pippany Webster, and got rid o' t' body, and they do say 'at t' police may arrest her onny minute. But theer's more nor that, Perris, mi lad."
Perris looked round: Mallins's voice had grown serious.
"Well?" he said. "What more?"
Mallins bent neaer.
"T' theory, as they call it," he whispered, "t' theory is 'at ye're wife not only killed Webster, but 'at she killed ye an' all, and 'at ye're body's somewheer about t' Cherry-trees theer! That's what they think i' our part o' t' country, mi lad. An' theer ye are, sittin' and takkin' yer glass, as large as life! Gow! but it's t' queerest do, is this, 'at iver I heerd on!"
Perris made no immediate remark. He continued to stare at the opposite wall.
"What are ye goin' to do about it?" asked Mallins.
Perris began to scratch the floor with the point of his ashplant. To the man
