Sindal made no answer and asked no question. He hurried on and presently led his companions into the parlor at the Stanbury Arms. There, Weathershaw, Hartley, and Marston Stanbury, the latter evidently in a state of high surprise, stood whispering together on the hearthrug. All three turned as Sindal entered with the police officials, who looked with professional interest at the man who had already made his mark as an investigator of crime. And Marrows went straight to the point.
“So this is Mr. Weathershaw, is it?” he said, with good-natured curiosity. “Pleased to meet you, sir — I’ve heard a good deal of you, one time or another. You want our assistance, Mr. Weathershaw? Well, now, what’s the exact line you’re taking?”
Weathershaw looked round at the door, which Sindal made haste to close.
“This!” answered Weathershaw, as the three new-comers closed round him. “I’ve just explained it to Sir Marston. There’s a man in this village whom I’ve suspected of having a good deal to do with Sir Cheville Stanbury’s death ever since I began to investigate matters. I’ve found out certain things about him — quite sufficient to warrant his arrest. And by a piece of rare good luck, I’ve found out within this last hour, from my assistant here, Mr. Hartley, that the man’s on the point of leaving the neighborhood, in company with another man who is very probably his accomplice. Now, I want you to come with me to the house where these men lodge, where I’ll put some questions to the man I chiefly suspect. And if things go as I think they will, I believe we shall get at the full truth before the night’s over.”
Marrows, who had listened with close attention to Weathershaw, glanced at Calvert when the second man was mentioned.
“You think — if your conclusions are right — that there were two men in at it, Mr. Weathershaw?” he asked.
“Two, yes!” said Weathershaw. “And of the identity of one I’m pretty well certain — in fact I am, personally, quite certain. Of the second man, I’m not certain, but I’m not doubtful.”
“Aye? — and who’s the man you’re certain about, now?” enquired the superintendent. “I know most of the folk about here. Who is he?”
Weathershaw lowered his voice as he looked round the circle of faces.
“A man named Madgwick — one of Mr. Lucas Etherton’s foremen, or over-lookers,” he answered quietly.
There were one or two exclamations of surprise — and the most surprised man was Calvert, who, as a resident of Lithersdale, knew all its people.
“Quiet and steady a man as there is in the place!” he said. “If it is so — well, I could scarcely believe it!”
“Just so!” observed Weathershaw drily. “I think you’ll have no room left for doubt, though. Well — this man lodges at a certain cottage in Marriner’s Fold, and I want to get up there at once.”
Marrows nodded, and the little company set out — to be joined outside by the two men who had come post-haste from Hallithwaite on Sindal’s urgent summons.
Chapter XXIII
Marriner’s Fold
By this time, night had fallen over the valley, not a clear, starlight night, but a dark, gloomy night wherein the lights of the little houses and the distant mills shone but faintly. All was quiet on the road and on the hillside up which Hartley and Calvert presently led them. Ere very long, these two, walking in advance, paused, and Calvert pointed to a group of houses lying a little off the path in a depression of the ground. Utter darkness lay over the houses, save where the glow of a lamp shone feebly through a red curtain.
“That’s Marriner’s Fold,” whispered Calvert, as the rest came up. “That cottage where the light’s showing is where Madgwick lodges — the woman’s name is Beckett — widow-woman. There’s a front entrance, here before us, and a back door, opening on the moor.”
“Somebody must go round to that,” said Weathershaw. “Don’t let’s have any attempt at escape.”
Marrows came forward and took charge. Dividing his party into two sections, he sent one under Calvert to the rear of the cottage; with the other he approached the front door.
“Don’t bother to knock, Calvert,” he commanded. “Walk straight in, quietly, and make for that room where the light’s burning. We’ll do the same at this side. If there’s any attempt to bolt, stick to whoever makes it.”
Marston, following closely upon the heels of Marrows and Weathershaw, in company with Sindal, was struck by the strangeness of the scene on which the two parties presently converged. There had been no difficulty about entering the cottage; both doors had been open; before the occupants had time to realize that strangers were at hand, the men had stepped quickly down the low-ceilinged hall and were in the living-room. And it required but one glance to see that such a visit as that now in process had never been expected.
The room, half-parlor, half-kitchen, comfortable and warm, furnished in the homely style common to the valley, had three occupants. One, a placid-faced, elderly woman, sat in a hooded chair by the fireside knitting a gray stocking. At the table in the centre of the room sat two men quietly eating supper. One of the two men was in the act of carving the beef; the other was fishing out onions from the jar of pickles; each paused in his act, open-mouthed, as the captors crowded swiftly in. And Weathershaw, swift to note impressions, saw that while one man’s face was instantly drawn into a scowl of anger, the other’s grew white with fear.
Marrows went straight to the matter in hand. Before Madgwick could drop the carving knife the superintendent and Calvert were on either side of him, close to his elbows; before the other man could put down the pickle fork the two detectives were close to him. And the first sound was a cry from the woman by the fire, who hastily dropped her knitting and rose to her feet.
“All right, missis!” said Marrows, “No harm intended to you. Now, Madgwick, my lad!” he went on. “We want some information out of you. I’d better tell you straight out — you’re suspected of having something to do with this affair at Black Scar the other night. Now — keep your hands there on the table!” he exclaimed peremptorily, as Madgwick pushed the knife angrily away from him and made a show of plunging his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to search you, just yet, but I shall if you don’t keep quiet. Put your hands on that table — and keep ’em there while you answer my questions.”
Madgwick laid his hands on the cloth in front of him. They were steady enough, but the hands of the other man, just then bidden to do the same, trembled badly, and his face began to work. Marrows pointed to him.
“You and this man!” he said, “the two of you — here, Mrs. Beckett, what’s the name of this other lodger of yours?”
“Stones, sir — Ben Stones,” answered the woman, who was obviously much upset. “And a quiet enough fellow. Oh, Madgwick, whatever have you been doing with him — it’s ye ’at’s led him off, if—”
“Where’s he work?” demanded Marrows.
“At t’ Old Mill, sir; Mr. Etherton’s,” replied the landlady. “Same as Madgwick there does. Oh, dear me—”
“Keep quiet, missis,” said Marrows. “Here, I’ll ask you a few questions first. These two have been lodging with you for some time, haven’t they? Aye, just so — well, now, aren’t they going to leave you a bit suddenly?”
Madgwick turned his head and gave the landlady a warning frown.
“Tell him nowt!” he growled. “He’s no power to ax you questions; now, at any rate. Say nowt to him — I shan’t!”
“We’ll see about that, my lad!” said Marrows. “Come now, missis!”
“Tak’ no notice on him, I tell yer!” exclaimed Madgwick. He gave a glance of disdain at Stones and changed it to one of sullen anger as he regarded Weathershaw, who was watching him from across the table. “Ye’ve no power to ax questions, Marrows!” he said insolently. “I know t’ law as well as ye do. It’s that theer damned feller ’at’s setten ye lot on — I thowt he wor a spy when Etherton browt him into t’ mill. And ye’re on t’ wrong game — we’ve nowt to do wi’ t’ owd man’s death, and nivver had. So theer!”