“Nowt could be easier!” he continued. “I heerd Sir Cheville say that he were goin’ into Hallithwaite for t’ evenin’, and ’at t’ papers ’ud be safe enough in his pocket till he could look at ’em at home. Now I knew his habits — I knew he’d come home by t’ last train and walk ower t’ moor. An’ I knew where he could easily be waylaid and relieved o’ t’ papers, and in such a fashion ’at nobody ud ever know who’d done it. But I wanted help — and I paid that theer snivelin’ hound for it — paid him well for t’ job! — he’s five hundred pound i’ his pocket now! We went up t’ moor about half past eleven, and waited for t’ owd man this side o’ Black Scar: waited behind a bit o’ old wall, and when he came along, I gat him by t’ arms, fro’ behind, and Stones there took t’ papers thro’ his pocket. He fought and kicked — but it were all over in a minute, and we left him. We went straight away and delivered t’ papers — all ’at we found, will an’ all — and I arranged about payment o’ my reward — and I tell you ’at that’s all ’at eyther me or Stones theer knows! We know nowt about how t’ owd man come to fall ower Black Scar — when we’d done wi’ him, we went our way, and we left him to go his. Neyther on us meddled wi’ him, except to take t’ papers — that’s t’ Gospil truth!”
“I never laid a finger on him!” blubbered the accomplice. “Nowt but snatch t’ papers out o’ t’ inside pocket while Madgwick theer held him!”
“An’—that’s all,” declared Madgwick.
“Except this,” said Marrows. “The man behind you! Now then, out with it!”
Madgwick looked round the group with an evil smile on his face.
“Aye!” he said. “I’ll tell now! Ye’ll be astonished. Sir John Arncliffe!”
Chapter XXIV
The Neighbor’s hearth
Weathershaw, to whom the name which Madgwick has just pronounced conveyed nothing, was immediately aware that to the rest of his companions it meant more than he could account for. From Marrows, grim and official, to Marston, excited and eager, every man started and stared as if a bomb had fallen on the supper-table; each caught his breath sharply. A curious silence fell on the room, broken at last by an incredulous, contemptuous exclamation from Sindal.
“Rot!” he said.
Madgwick gave the solicitor a significant look.
“I’m tellin’ yer!” he answered. “Ye’ll see! That’s t’ man ’at’s been at t’ bottom o’ t’ job — him and no other.”
Weathershaw nudged the superintendent’s elbow.
“Who is he?” he asked.
“Biggest manufacturer in the district — chairman of our bench of magistrates — great man altogether,” muttered Marrows. “And — a client of Mr. Sindal’s.”
“And I say it’s all rot — utter rot!” exclaimed Sindal, who was obviously much perturbed. “This fellow’s lying! — to save himself.”
“Looks like savin’ myself, wi’ all you chaps round me, doesn’t it?” sneered Madgwick. “I’m telling you reight. Sir John wor t’ man ’at set me on to this here, and ’at paid me an’ all!”
“You’ve proof of this, Madgwick?” demanded Marrows.
“Proof? — aye, plenty o’ proof if it comes to it,” replied Madgwick. “I can prove it before and behind!”
“When were you paid?”
“This very day — at noon!”
“Where — and how?”
“I met him i’ Hallithwaite — never mind wheer — and he paid me i’ notes, accordin’ to t’ stippylation ’at I’d made.”
“Got any of them?”
“I hev some — not so much,” replied Madgwick. He pointed to Stones, who was still whimpering and bemoaning his fate. “He hes more — hes ’em on him now. Proof? Aye! An’ now ’at ye know, I don’t care what I tell about Arncliffe, nor what becomes on him! He were t’ main agent — I wor nowt but t’ cat’s-paw. An’ ye can do nowt much at me — nor at Stones theer. We’d nowt to do wi’ t’ owd man’s death — we waylaid him, and took t’ papers thro’ him, it’s true, but we did no more. It’s nowt but common assault, or highway robbery, or summat o’ that sort, at t’ warst. An’ ye’ll hev to put Arncliff i’ t’ dock wi’ us, when all’s said and done. Damn thee, spy!” he suddenly broke out, turning fiercely on Weathershaw. “If tha’d niver come on t’ scene, pokin’ thi nose into t’ affair, nob’dy ’ud iver ha’ foun’ it all out!”
Marrows turned to one of the detectives.
“Run down to the village and get the two local police,” he said. “And bring those cars up here, as near as you can to this place. Calvert!” he went on. “Take these chaps and their belongings down to the town when you’ve got this extra help — one in each car. As for the rest—”
He motioned Weathershaw to come close to him.
“I believe what this fellow’s let out!” he whispered. “It explains everything, to me. Wait till these men are off, and then — then we’ll tackle the man that put them up to it.”
Ten minutes later, when the captives had been carried off, Marrows led his reduced party outside the cottage. The moon had risen over the shoulder of the moors while they were busied inside, and in its light the superintendent’s face showed itself unusually grave as he turned to his companions.
“This is a bad business!” he said in a low voice. “Worst business I’ve ever known since I came here — and I’ve been here thirty years. Sir John Arncliffe, of all men!”
“It’s all bosh, Marrows!” exclaimed Sindal angrily. “I don’t believe a word of it! That fellow’s invented it.”
Marrows quietly tapped the solicitor’s arm and at the same time gave a knowing look at Marston and Weathershaw, standing by.
“Mr. Sindal!” he said, in a voice full of conviction. “Yon fellow wasn’t inventing anything. He just knew the game was up, and naturally, he turned on the originator. I believe every word that Madgwick’s told us. Look you here, Mr. Sindal,” he went on, as the solicitor showed signs of impatience, “some of us have pretty good memories. And — this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of Sir John Arncliffe’s trying to pick other people’s brains! You’ve heard something of that sort, too, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Sindal — come, now! What about that affair of poor young Wilson’s, some years ago?”
“Nothing but rumor!” said Sindal.
“A good many folks, in a position to know, say it was more than rumor,” retorted Marrows. “They say it was fact!”
“What was it?” asked Weathershaw.
“I’ll tell you,” replied Marrows. “Sir John Arncliffe, as I said, is the biggest manufacturer in these parts, and he’s always been known as an inventor, too. Now, some years ago, he’d a very smart, promising young chap in his mill who, in his spare time, invented a machine out of which he expected to make his fortune. He was fool enough, when he’d got the thing finished, to take it one day to Sir John in his private office — Sir John bade him leave it and he’d see what could be done. Time passed — the lad never heard anything. Then it came out that Sir John had calmly patented that machine as his own, and he told Wilson that as he was in his employ he considered his brains were his, and threw him a cheque for some two or three hundred pounds with the remark that he ought to feel thankful for it. Now, this Wilson was a high-strung sort of chap — and he went home and shot himself! That’s that story, and it makes me believe—”
“It’s only one side of it!” said Sindal. “Sir John had another.”