The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
Читать онлайн книгу.
his residence in London. High above him, but some little distance away, he saw the lights of the market-town, the approach to which was by a winding road, lighted at long intervals by feeble and flickering jets of gas that shivered in their lamps; in a dip in this road he saw more lights which seemed to betoken the presence of a small, outlying hamlet, or cluster of cottages; amongst those lights was one which shone through red curtains. Perris felt cheered at the roseate glow.
"I'll lay yon's a public," he muttered. "Publics has red blinds as a rule. I'll call in and tek an odd glass afore I walk up to t' town—I could do wi' sum-mat after that theer journey, and wi' a bite o' sum-mat to eat an all."
Moving forward along the ill-lighted road, he came to a small inn which stood on an open space surrounded by a half-score of old cottages. It was no more than a wayside ale-house, and in the dim light of the one lamp which stood in front of it Perris regarded it doubtfully. But hunger overcoming his doubts he eventually pushed open the door and walked into a sanded passage, on either side of which were rooms meanly furnished with rough tables and benches of unpainted wood. There was a heavy scent of stale liquor and of pungent tobacco in the atmosphere, and as Perris closed the door behind him, he heard the loud voices of men in what appeared to be an argument of a spirited nature.
These voices came from the room on the left hand side of the passage, and Perris instinctively turned into the opposite one and was thankful to find it empty, for he was in the state of mind that makes a man desire loneliness. He sat down at one of the rough tables and rapped on its surface with his ash-plant. An elderly woman, hard-bitten, tall, gaunt, appeared from some interior part of the place, drying her hands on her rough apron, and looked an inquiry in silence.
"I'll tek a glass o' Scotch whisky, if you please," said Perris.
The woman shook her head.
"We've no licence for spirits, mister," she answered. "Only for ale and porter."
"Then a pint o' ale," said Perris. "An' happen ye could let me hey a plate o' bread-an'-cheese with it."
"Yes," replied the woman. "We've some good cheese just now. Happen you'd care for a pickled onion?"
"I shouldn't hey no objection," Perris answered. "Ye needn't be sparin' wi' t' bread-an'-cheese—I'm a bit hungry, like."
The landlady went down the passage, and Perris laid aside his ashplant and stared at the brewers' advertisements and grocers' almanacks which adorned the dingy walls.
In the other room across the narrow passage its occupants were continuing their loud-voiced debate; since Perris's entrance two of them had been speaking at the same time, and he had paid no attention to them, being more intent on his own affairs, but now one man had obtained a proper hearing and his voice came loud and clear into the room in which Perris sat alone. And Perris suddenly caught a word and a name, and he sat erect and listened.
"—an' I tell yer 'at our Jack's been workin' at yon theer Cheery-trees ever sin' they started building them cottages for Taffendale, and as he's been on t' spot all t' time 'at this has been goin' on, who's more likely to know all about it than what he is? He were present when t' body o' yon man 'at they called Pippany Webster were found—he helped to draw it up out o' t' well, and he heerd what they said 'at rekernised it, and I tell yer he's been theer ever sin,' and of course he's seen all and heerd all 'at there were to hear an' see. Our Jack's more likely to know all about t' matter than what ye are, and that he'd prove to yer if he were i' this company—now then!"
"Well, an' as ye're Jack isn't in this comp'ny ye can tell us what ye're Jack knows—I mean summat 'at folk like us doesn't know," said another voice, somewhat scornful and sceptical in tone.
"Our Jack knows what t' opinion o' them 'at's on t' spot is, mi lad, and ye're not on t' spot, any more nor what any on us here present is. Them 'at's been theer has drawn their own conclusions. It's t' common opinion 'at t' woman, Mrs. Perris, not only did away wi' yon Pippany Webster, but 'at she did away wi' her husband an' all. That's what t' common opinion is, so theer!"
"Well, I don't believe it!" said the scornful voice, with unrestrained contempt. "I don't believe 'at she killed Perris, nohow!"
"Then wheer is Perris? Ye tell me that! Wheer is t' man? Has he gone up above, as them theer owd pateriarks did 'at ye hear tell about i' t' Good Book, or has he been spirited away bi t' Owd Lad, or what? Men doesn't disappear same as if they were t' smook out o' this here pipe—"
"A' but don't they? Don't ye mek no mistak's! Theer's been many a man disappear 'at's never been heerd on agen—many a man, I say. I' my opinion yon theer Perris just took hissen off, quiet like, an—"
The landlady brought Perris his supper, took his money, and vanished. And Perris, with a queer smile, drank of his ale, crammed his mouth with food, and continued to listen attentively. The conversation in the other room had reached another point.
"Then ye tell me this—if t' woman did mak' away wi' Perris, what did she do wi' t' body? Now then, there's summat for yer to answer. What's ye're Jack say to that theer, now? Come!"
"Our Jack says what t' common opinion says about theer. It's supposed, d'ye see, 'at t' woman, when she'd made away wi' her husband, concealed t' corpse somewheer on t' premises, which is what she could easily do, theer bein' a good deal o' opportunity about a farmhouse. She could ha' hid him i' t' hay-cham'er, or i' t' barn, or i' t' granary, or—"
"An' d'ye mean to tell me 'at a woman could lift a man' corpse an' carry it away to eyther barn or hay-cham'er, or granary, or onnywheer else? A dead corpse, as everybody knows, is heavier nor when it's alive."
"Aye, varry like it is so, but yon Mrs. Perris, she's a reight fine, strong young woman, and as like to lift owt heavy as what ye are. I've seen her here at market—she's a strappin' woman. So that's no objection."
"Well, an' supposin' she did hide him i' t' haycham'er, or i' t' pig-sty, or wheer else, wheer is he now—wheer's t' body?"
"That's t' gre't point. Accordin' to what our Jack tells me, it's t' common opinion 'at that theer dead corpse were destroyed i' t' fire when Cherry-trees were burnt down bi them stang-riders. Destroyed, ye understand? In—that—theer—fire!"
For the first time since Perris's entrance there was a lull in the argument across the passage, and when the next contribution was made, it was by a new speaker whose voice was tinged with awe.
"It's a fearsome thing to think on, is that theer; a corpse bein' burnt up i' a fire and not able to stir hand or foot to do owt to help itsen. I've never heerd o' owt o' that sort i' mi life. But wodn't nowt ha' been found—no bones, nor nowt o' that sort?"
"Nowt. T' fire 'ud ha' destroyed 'em all."
"What about t' buttons on t' man's clothes. Most men has brass buttons on their breeches. Wodn't them ha' survived t' perils o' t' fire? An' happen he might ha' hed money i' his pocket."
"Brass, gold, or silver, t' fire 'ud destroy all t' lot. I once had t' misfortune to drop a shillin' into t' fire, and t' wife raked t' ash-nook out next mornin' but ye could mak' nowt out. No—fire's a very powerful instrument, as ye might term it, and if t' body were hidden away i' t' hay-cham'er, or elsewhere, it 'ud soon be dissolved into what they call t' elements—which means nowt—when that fire came."
There was another spell of silence as a result of this speech, and in its midst Perris finished his supper, drank off his ale, and filled his pipe. As he began feeling in his pockets for a match, and realising that he had struck his last in the train, the conversation broke out again.
"Aye, well, who knows wheer t' man be? Did ye ever see him?—ye say ye've seen t' wife."
"I seen him more nor once. A tall, bony man, loose t' joints and shammocked in his walk. Allus carried an ashplant stick wi' him—I seen him slappin' his leg wi' it many a time up yonder i' t' market. A sandy-coloured feller, wi' a long nose—no beauty. Aw, aye, I seen him!"
Perris could not find a match in his pockets, nor in the room in which he sat, and the fire had died down to black ash. But there was a vase of paper-spills on the mantelpiece, and he took one out and,