The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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Collingwood, looking at the inquiry agent, "that Mr. Byner having heard what he has, would do that quite apart from us?"
"Yes," said Byner. "Now that I've heard what Pickard had to say, I certainly shall follow that up."
"I am following out something of my own," said Collingwood, turning to Eldrick. "I shall know more by this time tomorrow. Let us have a conference here—at noon."
They separated on that understanding, and Byner went his own ways. His first proceeding was to visit, one after another, the Barford newspaper offices, and to order the insertion in large type, and immediately, of the Halstead-Byner advertisement for news of Parrawhite. His second was to seek the General Post Office, where he wrote out and dispatched a message to his partner in London. That message was in cypher—translated into English, it read as follows:—
"If person named Pratt sends any communication to us re Parrawhite, on no account let him know I am in Barford, but forward whatever he sends to me at once, addressed to H.D. Black, Central Station Hotel."
Chapter XIX. The Eye-Witness
When Collingwood said that he was following out something of his own, he was thinking of an interesting discovery which he had made. It was one which might have no significance in relation to the present perplexities—on the other hand, out of it might come a good deal of illumination. Briefly, it was that on the evening before this consultation with Eldrick & Byner, he had found out that he was living in the house of a man who had actually witnessed the famous catastrophe at Mallathorpe's Mill, whereby John Mallathorpe, his manager, and his cashier, together with some other bystanders, had lost their lives.
On settling down in Barford, Collingwood had spent a couple of weeks in looking about him for comfortable rooms of a sort that appealed to his love of quiet and retirement. He had found them at last in an old house on the outskirts of the town—a fine old stone house, once a farmstead, set in a large garden, and tenanted by a middle-aged couple, who having far more room than they needed for themselves, had no objection to letting part of it to a business gentleman. Collingwood fell in love with this place as soon as he saw it. The rooms were large and full of delightful nooks and corners; the garden was rich in old trees; from it there were fine views of the valley beneath, and the heather-clad hills in the distance; within two miles of the town and easily approached by a convenient tram-route, it was yet quite out in the country.
He was just as much set up by his landlady—a comfortable, middle-aged woman, who fostered true Yorkshire notions about breakfast, and knew how to cook a good dinner at night. With her Collingwood had soon come to terms, and to his new abode had transferred a quantity of books and pictures from London. He soon became acquainted with the domestic menage. There was the landlady herself, Mrs. Cobcroft, who, having no children of her own, had adopted a niece, now grown up, and a teacher in an adjacent elementary school: there was a strapping, rosy-cheeked servant-maid, whose dialect was too broad for the lodger to understand more than a few words of it; finally there was Mr. Cobcroft, a mild-mannered, quiet man who disappeared early in the morning, and was sometimes seen by Collingwood returning home in the evening.
Lately, with the advancing spring, this unobtrusive individual was seen about the garden at the end of the day: Collingwood had so seen him on the evening before the talk with Eldrick and Byner, busied in setting seeds in the flower-beds. And he had asked Mrs. Cobcroft, just then in his sitting-room, if her husband was fond of gardening.
"It's a nice change for him, sir," answered the landlady. "He's kept pretty close at it all day in the office yonder at Mallathorpe's Mill, and it does him good to get a bit o' fresh air at nights, now that the fine weather's coming on. That was one reason why we took this old place—it's a deal better air here nor what it is in the town."
"So your husband is at Mallathorpe's Mill, eh?" asked Collingwood.
"Been there—in the counting-house—boy and man, over thirty years, sir," replied Mrs. Cobcroft.
"Did he see that terrible affair then—was it two years ago?"
The landlady shook her head and let out a weighty sigh.
"Aye, I should think he did!" she answered. "And a nice shock it gave him, too!—he actually saw that chimney fall—him and another clerk were looking out o' the counting-house window when it gave way."
Collingwood said no more then—except to remark that such a sight must indeed have been trying to the nerves. But for purposes of his own he determined to have a talk with Cobcroft, and the next evening, seeing him in his garden again, he went out to him and got into conversation, and eventually led up to the subject of Mallathorpe's Mill, the new chimney of which could be seen from a corner of the garden.
"Your wife tells me," observed Collingwood, "that you were present when the old chimney fell at the mill yonder?"
Cobcroft, a quiet, unassuming man, usually of few words, looked along the hillside at the new chimney, and nodded his head. A curious, far-away look came into his eyes.
"I was, sir!" he said. "And I hope I may never see aught o' that sort again, as long as ever I live. It was one o' those things a man can never forget!"
"Don't talk about it if you don't want to," remarked Collingwood. "But I've heard so much about that affair that——"
"Oh, I don't mind talking about it," replied Cobcroft. He leaned over the fence of his garden, still gazing at the mill in the distance. "There were others that saw it, of course: lots of 'em. But I was close at hand—our office was filled with the dust in a few seconds."
"It was a sudden affair?" asked Collingwood.
"It was one of those affairs," answered Cobcroft slowly, "that some folk had been expecting for a long time—only nobody had the sense to see that it might happen at some unexpected minute. It was a very old chimney. It looked all right—stood plumb, and all that. But Mr. Mallathorpe—my old master, Mr. John Mallathorpe, I'm talking of—he got an idea from two or three little things, d'ye see, that it wasn't as safe as it ought to be. And he got a couple of these professional steeplejacks to examine it. They made a thorough examination, too—so far as one could tell by what they did. They'd been at the job several days when the accident happened. One of 'em had only just come down when the chimney fell. Mr. Mallathorpe, himself, and his manager, and his cashier, had just stepped out of the counting-house and crossed the yard to hear what this man had got to say when—down it came! Not the slightest warning at the time. It just—collapsed!"
"You saw the actual collapse?" asked Collingwood.
"Aye—didn't I?" exclaimed Cobcroft. "Another man and myself were looking out of the office window, right opposite. It fell in the queerest way—like this," he went on, holding up his garden-rake. "Supposing this shaft was the chimney—standing straight up. As we looked we saw it suddenly bulge out, on all sides—it was a square chimney, same size all the way up till you got to the cornice at the top—bulge out, d'ye see, just about half-way up—simultaneous, like. Then—down it came with a roar that they heard over half the town! O' course, there were some two or three thousands of tons of stuff in that chimney—and when the dust was cleared a bit there it was in one great heap, right across the yard. And it was a good job," concluded Cobcroft, reflectively, "that it fell straight—collapsed in itself, as you might say—for if it had fallen slanting either way, it 'ud ha' smashed right through some of the sheds, and there'd ha' been a terrible loss of life."
"Mr. John Mallathorpe was killed on the spot, I believe?" suggested Collingwood.
"Aye—and Gaukrodger, and Marshall, and the steeplejack that had just come down, and another or two," said Cobcroft. "They'd no chance—they were standing in a group at the very foot, talking. They were all killed there and then—instantaneous. Some others were struck and injured—one or two died. Yes, sir,—I'm not very like to forget that!"
"A terrible experience!" agreed Collingwood. "It would naturally fix itself on your memory."
"Aye—my