The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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thing if he did," he said. "I'll lay a crown to a penny piece yon Pippany Webster, sir, had never been five mile from Martinsthorpe since he was born, unless his mother ever carried him off for a jaunt, like, when he was a young child, for I'm very certain that he's never been away very far since he was a lad old enough to scare crows or lead a harvest cart. And besides that, his cottage has been examined by the police since he vanished, and they found what you might call a bit of a hoard in a secret place in an old cupboard—naught much, but two or three pieces of gold, and a matter of silver. A man like him would have taken his brass with him if he'd meant running away, sir."
"Well, that's certainly strange," said the steward. "Yes, yes, that seems very remarkable. But—where is he, then?"
"Nay, that's it," answered the under-steward. "Some, they thought he'd gone to his sister's, but his sister's heard naught of him. And he couldn't have 'listed, for they wouldn't have such a chap. And, of course, sir," he added, sinking his voice to a tone of dark and mysterious significance, "there is some in Martinsthorpe that thinks he's come to a bad end—happen done away with."
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the steward. "You don't mean to say that the people think the man was—murdered?"
"Well, done away with—put out of the way, like," replied the under-steward. "Yes, there's some goes far enough to say that."
"But—by whom?" asked the steward. "By whom?"
The under-steward, however, was not going to be definite; he had been brought up on the good old village principle that a hint and a suggestion are better than a direct charge, and that the wise stab folk in the back and only fools present honest weapons face to face. So he contented himself by remarking that no doubt there were those who could speak if they were minded to, and relapsed into silence until he and the steward reached the Dancing Bear and the pleasures of an afternoon dinner.
There are always folk in a village who can find time to lounge and idle away their time around whatever unusual operation is going on, and when the building operations began at Cherry-trees (to be rapidly pushed forward in view of the approaching winter) every fine afternoon found such gentlemen of leisure as the gamekeeper and the policeman, the village idler—by profession—and as many old gaffers as were past work but had strength to climb the hill, hanging about the place to see how masons and carpenters progressed. And there, too, but with different motives, constantly came Taffendale, intent on the due carrying out of his wishes in respect to the proper housing of his labourers.
The fine, dry weather of that autumn continued throughout October and November, and great progress was consequently made by the masons. It was a crisp day in December, and the walls were up and the carpenters at work on the roofs, when the sanitary inspector came with an expert in well-sinking to meet Taffendale and the under-steward in order to decide about the water-supply. Taffendale, on his own initiative, had caused the well which the Perrises had used to be examined and analysed; the result of the chemical investigations had proved its water to be contaminated by long filtration from the fold. That well, then, must be filled up, and another sunk. And the under-steward suddenly remembered that there had once been an attempt to sink a well at the side of the old house, in the little orchard which was still there, and he remarked that according to his recollection, the work was not carried to any great depth, and that possibly, if it were now continued, water might be found at a lower level.
"Here's the place," he said, leading the party around him to the spot where the remains of the old reaping-machine which Perris had placed above the well-cover still lay amidst a mass of bricks and mortar. "It might be a good idea to clear this off and see if it promises aught."
The expert in well-sinking agreed; water, he said, might have collected by that time, and if it had that would show that there was a likely spring. The under-steward called to some labourers and bade them clear away the rubbish. And so, for the first time since the night on which Perris had lifted it in the darkness, the cover of the old well was again laid bare.
The cavity beneath was black enough and odorous enough of damp and mud and slime when the rotting boards were lifted, and Taffendale turned up his nose.
"A likely place to get good water out of!" he said, with a sneer. "Better have it filled up like the other."
But the well-sinker shook his head. That was nothing, he said; the well must needs be like that, having been closed up for so many years; it could be made sweet and wholesome very quickly by exposure. The main thing was to find out if water was there, and he asked for a man, a ladder, and a lantern. The ladder and the lantern were quickly procured; the man not so readily. But suddenly one of the masons' labourers, a Martinsthorpe lad, stepped forward, smiling sheepishly.
"Here, gi' us ho'd o' t' lantern—I'll away down." he said. "I'm none afeard o' no owd wells."
The men standing about watched the youth of no fear descend rung by rung of the ladder into the blackness beneath. Although it had never been finished the well was of considerable depth, and those whose olfactory sense was not too delicate to prevent them from hanging over the brink saw the yellow light dwindle to a spark. Suddenly they heard a loud yell; the brave explorer came up the ladder with the speed of a sailor of the old days, and presented a white face and staring eyes as he flung himself on the lip of the cavity.
"Theer's—theer's a man down theer!" he gasped, with trembling lips. "A deeäd man! A—a body!"
Taffendale could not repress a sharp exclamation. He had suddenly thought of Perris, and the colour rushed into his face and out again, leaving him pale. Could it be that this was—Perris? And if so—
"What?" he said, pulling himself together. "A dead man! Nonsense—you're dreaming."
"Go down yoursen, then, mestur," said the explorer, who was still trembling. "I know what I saw. Onny on yer can see it, if ye'll tak' t' lantern and go down as far as I did. It's liggin' theer at t' bottom o' t' ladder—it's a wonder ye didn't set t' ladder on it."
The gamekeeper and the policeman, who usually appeared at the building in company, had just joined the group. Justice, who had heard Taffendale's sudden exclamation and seen him change colour, gave him a sharp glance.
"Now, I wonder whose body it is, Mr. Taffendale?" he said in the familiar fashion which Taffendale so much resented. "It'll be very interesting to find that out, sir."
Taffendale's cheek flushed angrily.
"Whosever body it is, it must be brought up," he said. "Here, policeman, this is your job. Go down and see what you can make out."
The policeman, who had just donned his carefully-brushed uniform and put on his white wool gloves, hung back, looking down his nose.
"I shall make a fine mess of myself going down there," he remarked grumblingly.
"You're paid to make a fine mess of yourself if occasion arises," said Taffendale sharply. "Here, give him that lantern."
When the policeman came up again his face had assumed an expression of official importance. He stepped off the ladder and rubbed his hands clear of mud.
"There's a body down there, right enough," he said. "It's a man's body. But its head and shoulders are in the slime at the bottom, so I couldn't see the features."
"It'll have to be brought up," said the under-steward. "Now, then, men—who'll go down with a rope?"
Half-an-hour later such folk as sat in the kichen of the Dancing Bear were galvanised into life by rare news.
"They've foun' Pippany Webster's body i' t' owd well at Cherry-trees! An' them 'at's seen it say 'at he were murdered first and thrown in afterwards. He were foun' stickin' t' mud, and he wor deeäd. An' they're bringin' t' corpse down here for t' Crowner's 'quest!"
XX
The gamekeeper, carrying his gun in the crook of his arm, followed the little group of corpse-bearers down the hill at a slight distance. He was thinking. He had watched Taffendale's face when, the body having been brought up from the well, everybody had recognised it as Pippany Webster's. He had watched it again as Taffendale mounted his horse to ride home. He had wondered at