The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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deliberately walked across the passage into the room in which the men were talking, and coolly lighted his pipe at the fire round which they sat. Then, drawing steadily at it, and slapping his leg with his ashplant, he looked calmly round at their dilating eyes and parting lips and walked out of the house.
The company left behind let a full minute elapse before speech returned. Then with a mutual gasp of astonishment all spoke together.
"By Gow! what if yon wor t' man?"
"It mun ha' been t' man! I felt it when he walked in!"
"It wor his ghost. Lord ha' mercy—I'm fair ditherin' wi freet!"
The man who had seen Perris spoke after the others. "It wor t' man! He's grown a beard, but it wor him. Yon's Perris!"
Then, with a common consent, they made for the door and ran outside to the open space in front of the inn. But by that time the night was black and starless and the feeble gas-lamp made but a mockery of illumination. There was nothing to see, and nothing to hear, not even the sound of retreating footsteps.
For Perris was already round the corner of the little cluster of cottages, and striding quickly up the long hill that led to the centre of the town. He knew quite well where his destination lay, and now that he had supped and was smoking his pipe, he meant to go to it direct.
"Mestur Wroxdale's t' man for me," he muttered as he strode along. "A varry pleasant, reight-dealin' gentleman, is Mestur Wroxdale. He's t' man for my money."
The ancient market-place was in its usual half-lighted state when Perris turned into it. Now he passed across the front of a lighted shop; now he was lost in the shadow of some old building. He walked rapidly along, looking neither to right nor left, always sucking stolidly at his pipe and tapping his leg with his switch. And as he passed one shop, more brilliantly lighted than the rest, and its light fell full upon him, a man coming out of it saw him, glanced at him sharply, looked more searchingly, and turned to follow him.
In the shadow of the great church in the marketplace Perris felt a tap on his elbow, and turning, found himself face to face with Justice, the gamekeeper from Martinsthorpe. Justice held out a hand. Perris stared at it, making no offer to take it.
"So you're not dead?" said Justice.
"What's that to do wi' ye?" asked Perris sullenly. Justice smiled unpleasantly.
"It's had a good deal to do with a good many people lately, at any rate," said Justice. "Why, where have you been, man?"
Perris stooped and thrust his lean face closer to the gamekeeper than the gamekeeper liked.
"Look here!" he said. "Ye go your own ways, and I'll go mine. I want none o' your interference." Justice stepped back a pace.
"I mean to see where you're going," he said.
"If ye want to know where I'm going," said Perris, slowly, "I'm going to pay a call on Mestur Wroxdale, t' lawyer, as lives i' that house, theer. If ye foller me, I'll gi' yer summat to carry away wi' yer—d' yer understand?"
Justice made no answer. He moved away into the shadows, and from a convenient point watched Perris go up to the solicitor's house and ring the bell of the front door. A moment later he saw him admitted. Then Justice went away, and hurried to the police, with whom he had recently been cultivating friendly relations. It seemed to him that a new and interesting stage of his connection with what he was now accustomed to call the Cherry-trees Mystery, was being developed in surprising fashion, and he meant to have his share in it.
Perris, having the solicitor's door open to him, lost no time in setting to business. He walked into the hall without invitation, and without ceremony addressed the maid who had answered his summons.
"I expect Mestur Wroxdale 'II be at home at this time?" he said, slapping his leg with his ashplant. "Ye might just tell him 'at I could like to have a word wi' him,—I've done business wi' him before now—name o' Perris—Abel Perris."
While the maid hesitated, knowing that her master made no business appointments after office hours, Wroxdale came into the further end of the hall and caught the end of Perris's request. Without showing surprise, he walked towards the door.
"Good evening, Mr. Perris," he said quickly. "Come this way."
Perris followed the solicitor down the hall to a room at the end which Wroxdale used as a study. He took off his hat as he entered, and stood waiting while Wroxdale turned up the reading-lamp which stood on his desk.
"Sit down," said Wroxdale, pointing to one of the easy-chairs which flanked the hearthrug. He took the opposite one himself, and gave his visitor a keen glance. "So you want to see me, Mr. Perris?" he added. "Business, eh?"
Perris laid his hat and stick on the floor at his side, and folded his big hands, thumbs up, across his knees.
"Why, ye see, Mestur Wroxdale," he began, "you did a bit o' business for me once or twice, and I thowt I'd liefer come to you nor to any other, sir. Ye're no doubt aware, Mestur Wroxdale, 'at I've been away fro' this neighbourhood for a piece?"
"Some time, I think," answered Wroxdale.
"Aye, some time," continued Perris. "Ye see sir, I had mi reasons for leavin' this part o' t' country. Aye, I went to London and started on a bit o' horsedealin', and I were doin' nicely at it an' all. Howsomiver, this mornin' I were at t' Caledonian Market as they call it—it's a queerish place, but ye can now and then pick up a bargain o' sorts theer—and I chanced across yon there Mestur Mallins—Roger Mallins, him as farms out yonder at Woodbridge—and of course, we took a glass together, and he telled me some news o' t' owd neighbourhood, and 'specially this news about all t' recent goin's on at Cherry-trees. An', of course, it were all reight news to me, 'cause I'd niver heerd word on it afore."
"You'd heard—nothing?"
"Nowt, sir! I'm not one for readin' t' newspapers," replied Perris, "and ye see, I'd done—or wanted to ha' done wi' this part o' t' country an' t' owd life. Howsomiver, this feller Mallins, he telled me a deal, and I understand 'at they foun' t' body o' yon theer man, Webster—Pippany, as they called him—'at were once employed by me, and 'at now my wife's accused o' killin' the chap, and of getting rid o' me an' all. Is that reight, or is it wrong, Mestur Wroxdale?"
Wroxdale inclined his head.
"Right!" he answered.
Perris looked at the ceiling and sniffed.
"Well, sir," he said slowly, "it's a varry 'queer thing to me how folk gets mista'en notions into their heads. Howsomiver, as you say it is so, it is so, I reckon. Then—my wife's i' danger, Mestur Wroxdale?"
"Your wife is in serious danger," replied Wroxdale. She is in such serious danger that she may be arrested at any moment."
"Aw!" said Perris. "Aw! Why, then, sir, it's as well I came back. I think, as she's charged wi' t' matter, we mun as well hev' it cleared up reight. 'Cause it were not my wife, Mestur Wroxdale, 'at made away wi' Webster. It were me!"
For a full moment Wroxdale made no answer. He had wondered, when Perris presented himself, if the man was intoxicated and had speedily decided that he was not; now he wondered if Perris had lost his reason. He let Perris speak again before he himself spoke.
"Not her at all," said Perris. "She's nowt to do wi' t' matter. It were me!"
Wroxdale picked up the poker and stirred the fire: the mere act of doing something physical was a relief to his nerves. He sat up again and regarded Perris steadily.
"You say that you killed Pippany Webster?" he said.
"Aye, I killed him!" answered Perris. "I made away wi' t' chap reight enough."
"You know what you're saying?" asked Wroxdale. "You're quite sure you know what you're saying?"
"I know what I'm saying, sir, and I'm going to say, it to t' police, if you'll tell me how to act about it," replied Perris stoutly. "We'll clear t' matter up."
"But—do you realise what it means to you asked Wroxdale