“You’re bamming me!” said Stogumber.
“No,” said John. “Nor am I flattering you!”
“Well, even if you ain’t, you don’t have to look so bluff, nor to grip my arm so as I can’t feel my fingers no more! That’s the worst of you big ’uns: you don’t know your strength.”
“I know mine to the last ounce, and so will you very shortly! I’m interested in you because it seems to me that some business you’re mighty anxious to conceal has brought you to these remote parts. Don’t spin me any more nacky tarradiddles about this property you have been commissioned to purchase, because we have agreed, have we not? that I am not a flat! You tried yesterday to discover who I am, and how I come to be here; and tonight I find you watching the toll-house. Why is it so important to you to know where I may be going, or what I may be doing, Mr. Stogumber? Just what kind of an under-game are you playing?”
There was a pause. John had the impression that his question had taken Stogumber by surprise, but it was impossible, in the darkness, to read his face. After a moment he said: “You must have had a shove in the mouth, big ’un, though I’m bound to say I never suspicioned it! P’raps you’re just betwattled! Did you ever hear tell of the Wansbeck ford?”
“No, and I don’t want to hear of it! If you provoke me into losing my temper, Stogumber—”
“Now, don’t go for to do that!” begged Stogumber. “I ain’t a match for a man of your size! Besides, it wouldn’t do you no good if you was to mill me down. O’ course, it wouldn’t do me much good neither, but it’s you as ’ud catch cold—in the long run! If you never heard tell of the Wansbeck ford, p’raps you never heard tell of a signpost being changed round so as to mislead folks?”
“I didn’t. And if you’re trying to hoax me into believing that you’re here by accident tonight, spare your breath! There is no signpost between this gate and the village! Try another fling!”
“Never heard of that neither!” said Stogumber. “That’s queer!”
Considerably mystified, John demanded: “Why?”
“’Cos I thought you had,” replied Stogumber cryptically. “Either I’ve been mistook—which ain’t likely—or you’re as fly a cove as ever tapped a shy one on the shoulder! Which again ain’t likely, seeing the size you are, and big ’uns not being, in general, the slyest things in nature! One thing I’m not mistook about is that there’s a horse and cart, or maybe it’s a carriage, coming down the road. You’ll have to leave go of me, Mr. Staple. And if you’re going to open the gate, I’d take off that flash shap, if I was you!”
There was indeed a vehicle approaching from the direction of Sheffield. The Captain released Stogumber, and, accepting his advice, removed his hat. But he said somewhat sternly: “You use too much thieves’ cant for my taste!”
“Ah!” said Stogumber, stooping to pick up his stick. “And you understand too much of it for mine, big ’un!”
That drew a reluctant laugh from John; he allowed Stogumber to go on his way, and himself went to open the gate.
The vehicle, which proved to be a gig, carried Farmer Huggate and his wife. If this worthy couple thought it peculiar to find the gatekeeper nattily attired in a riding coat of expensive cloth and fashionable cut, and with a modish cravat arranged in intricate folds about his neck, they admirably concealed their surprise. The farmer had only to hand in his ticket, purchased at the first toll-gate out of Sheffield, but he lingered to explain chattily that he and his rib (as he designated the stout lady beside him) had been out on the spree to celebrate the anniversary of their wedding day. John replied suitably; and Mrs. Huggate ventured to say that she hoped it would not be long before he was celebrating his own wedding-day. John was spared the necessity of answering this sally by the farmer’s telling her severely not to talk so free, bidding him a cheery goodnight, and driving off down the road.
The Captain, walking across the field to where his horse stood patiently awaiting him, outside the barn, was forced to the conclusion that the secret of his matrimonial hopes was shared by most of the inhabitants of the village, and certainly by the entire staff of servants employed at the Manor.
He entered the toll-house presently to find Lydd snoring gently beside the dying fire in the kitchen. He shook him awake, saying: “Well, you’re a fine gatekeeper! I wonder how many people have opened the pike for themselves, and cheated us of the tolls?”
“Lor” bless you, sir, I’d rouse up at the least thing!” Lydd assured him.
“What do you call the least thing? A regiment with a full military band? Tell me, Joseph! Can you watch that pair up at the Manor without their knowing it? Young Stornaway, and Coate?”
Lydd looked at him, stroking his chin. “I can—and I can’t, gov’nor. It all depends. It might be that I’d have to go off somewheres with Miss Nell, you see. And, if you was to ask me, I should say as there’s three of ’em as needs watching. Holt—he’s Mr. Henry’s man—ain’t no better than a clunch—and oyster-faced at that!—but Roger Gunn, which calls himself Coate’s groom, is a regular ding-boy, or I never see one! Whatever it is them pair o’ shag-bags is up to, he’s in it, to the chin!”
“Do what you can!” John said. “Keep your eye on Mr. Henry, and don’t fail to let me know if he does anything you think smoky! Particularly watch where he goes, and tell me!”
But it was not, in the event, Joseph who saw where Henry Stornaway went, but the Captain himself, and that by the merest accident. With no other thought in mind than to exercise his horse, and to do it at an hour when it was not only unlikely that any vehicle would wish to pass the gate, but when few people would be abroad to see the gatekeeper bestriding a horse of his quality, he got up shortly after dawn on the following morning, and walked through the dank mist to Farmer Huggate’s barn. Not wishing either to ride through Crowford, or to branch off short of the village up the very uneven lane which had led him down from the moors on Saturday night, he set off in an easterly direction, following the line Nell had taken on the previous morning. An easy jump over the hedge brought him into the spinney, and through this he was obliged to wend his way circumspectly, until he came to a ride, which led, after a short distance, to a rotting gate. He remembered seeing this when he rode to Kellands, and knew that he had reached the pike road. It was not precisely what he wanted, but if nothing better offered there was at least the broad grass verge along which Beau could stretch his legs in a canter. The mist was lifting momently, and the gate could be seen quite clearly, so that he had no hesitation in putting Beau at it. The big horse, pulling a little, seemed almost to take it in his stride, and, landing neatly on the verge, gave the Captain to understand that after so many idle hours he would like to be allowed to have his head. But the Captain had no intention of galloping down an unknown road while the mist made it impossible for him to see what lay more than fifty yards ahead, and he held him in to an easy canter. He recalled that he had noticed, the night before, that a narrow lane led from the road to the north; it seemed probable that it ran upward to the moors; and he determined to ride along it, in the hope of coming within a few miles to open country, where Beau could have a chance to gallop the fidgets out of himself.
The lane was halfway between the toll-gate and Kellands Manor, and was soon reached. John turned Beau into it, and found it to be no more than a deeply rutted cart-track, separated on either side by a ditch and a bank from fields under cultivation. Between the ruts the ground was grass-grown, and sufficiently level to make it possible for John to let Beau break into a canter again. The big horse had a formidable stride, and he was impatient, trying to lengthen it more and still more. The pace, John knew, was not really very safe on an unknown track, which might, for anything he knew, contain bad pot-holes; it was too swift for him to be able to detect possible dangers ahead, in the chill white mist; and too swift for a solitary pedestrian, making his way towards the pike road, to do more than jump off the track almost into the ditch as he saw Beau looming ahead of him. He had plenty of time to do this, however, and John, perceiving him some thirty yards away, had the impression that if there had been a hedge he would have dived into it for cover. There was something in his aspect which was panic-stricken rather than merely startled; he looked round, as though seeking shelter, and, finding none, seemed almost to cower on the brink of the ditch. John had no time to wonder what there was to alarm anyone in the appearance of a horse and rider, however unexpectedly encountered, before he was abreast of the man. He had made Beau check his pace a little, and he turned his head, intending to shout an apology for having discommoded this early pedestrian, whom he supposed to be a farm labourer. Then he realized that the man was wearing a coat with a superfluity of shoulder-capes; had a glimpse of pale, blood-shot eyes glaring up at him out of a white face; and rode on, without uttering a word. The head had been ducked almost immediately, but he had recognized Henry Stornaway.