He soon seemed satisfied that there was nothing to be feared, and rode quietly back to where the men were working. The one who had groped in the hole had unwound a grappling chain which ended in a hook, and this he passed round the end of the stone and secured it. When he had tested it, he passed the end of the chain to one of the others. This man carried it to the horseman, who turned his mount so that the chain could be fastened at the back of his saddle.
‘All set?’ he called, when this was done. He obtained a growling assent from his obviously unwilling helpers, and turned in the saddle to say angrily:
‘Well, you take your cut, don’t you? And you’ve got to do what’s to be done!’
‘Us didn’t reckon on deaders,’ said one of the men very sullenly.
‘Oh, go to hell, and do as you’re told, or we’re all in the cart,’ said the horsemen. ‘Once let anybody find poor Bud like this, and they’ve got us all in the bag.’
At this, the men, one at the mouth of the hole and astride the stone, the others between him and the horseman, took the chain in hands on to which they had pulled stout gauntlets, and, at a word from the first man, took the strain and began to haul and tug with the greatest determination with the object of lifting the stone from the body of their dead companion.
The man at the hole was the biggest and presumably the strongest. He gave the orders, panting them out as though the strain of the lifting was almost too much for his strength. The others, too, strained and sweated, and the rider, urging his horse, was swearing softly and continuously as, for half an hour by Mrs. Bradley’s watch, they toiled (though with frequent pauses for rest and to wipe off the sweat which was running into their eyes), to move the great stone off the body. Their efforts were vain.
Mrs. Bradley and Laura watched with the greatest interest. At last the two men stood back, then flung themselves on the ground and declared that the job could not be done. The big man, who at first had been as unwilling as they, now cursed, cajoled and bullied them, but they refused to go back to the work. He spoke to the horseman, who glanced at the eastern sky, and then unhooked the grapple from his foam-flecked horse and rode off. He was absent for about a quarter of an hour, during which time the others, although they were resting, betrayed all the known and obvious signs of anxiety, for the sun was rising and their time, it was clear, was running out. At last the horseman came back, flogging his horse up the hill and over the turf to the stones, as though he, too, was most desperately pressed for time.
In his left hand he held a short axe, or, rather, a billhook. Mrs. Bradley watched interestedly, but Laura covered her face, for both had guessed the use to which the implement was to be put. The rider handed the billhook to the biggest man, and the others got to their feet and stood away. The biggest man looked at the billhook and then at the corpse, whilst the rider dismounted and pulled a large sack from his saddle.
‘Now then,‘ he said, ‘have a smack at it.’
‘Not me,’ said the big man, dropping the billhook on the grass. ‘Do your own bloody butchering.’
The horseman lost no more time. There was a horrid interval, during which Laura, behind her stone, was sick twice, and then the horseman kicked the head and hands of the dead man into the sack, wiped his boots very carefully on the turf, twisted the neck of the sack, and approached the horse with his burden.
The animal, however, squealed and backed, and the horseman could not control it. It would not suffer the sack to be brought nearer than about three yards, and the horseman was dragged at the end of the rein as the animal pranced and whinnied. It was not until two of the others came to his assistance that the horse was brought sufficiently to a standstill to enable him to get upon its back. As he did this, another sound could be heard, and over the brow of the hill came an ancient and lumbering farm-wagon half-filled with dirty straw which looked as though it had made a bedding for calves and stank accordingly. It stopped at the open gateway, and then creaked onward again, but remained on the rough but well-defined path which led along the side of the field.
The carter jumped down as soon as it stopped next time, and clumped across the turf towards the hole. As he came up, the men beside it indicated the corpse—or what remained of it—and the carter swore with horror, and for some time argued whether or not he should take the sack on the wagon.
‘It’s worse nor a murder,’ said he. ‘I tell ee, it’s worse nor a murder.’
‘Oh, don’t talk such muck,’ said the horseman. He tossed the reeking billhook on to the straw in the wagon. ‘Listen, now, cully,’ he went on. ‘That’ll take some explaining if I don’t pick it up out of there. You’ve heard of fingerprints, haven’t you? Well, it’s more than your neck’s worth…’ he made a suggestive gesture indicative of the tightening of a noose… ‘to touch that billhook and leave your fingerprints on it. His are on it…’ he jerked his head towards the big man, who with the other two, was making off towards the farm… ‘and mine are superimposed on his. Follow? So if yours get on top of mine, you know what the police’ll think, don’t you? Now don’t be a fool. I don’t touch that billhook again until we get to the farm with that sack and I can get it into a safer place, and you know where that is, don’t you?’
The carter was not so easily bullied or convinced. He turned stubborn.
‘You promised me it ’ud be poor Bud’s body, and willing enough I am to take that along to the farm. But this is different. Bodies do be resurrection matter, but ’eads and ’ands be offal and most on-Christian.’
‘Oh, don’t be a fool!’ shouted the horseman, almost dancing with impatience and fury. ‘Do you want your cut or don’t you? I’ll report you to Mr. Concaverty, that’s what I’ll do, and when the next pay-off comes you’ll be left with nothing except a prison sentence. How would you like to do a three-year stretch, eh?’
‘Not by myself I shouldn’t be, nohow,’ said the carter morosely. ‘Still, suit yourself. But I ain’t going to touch the sack, mind that. Dollars is dollars, and if they turns into a quid or two now and then, that ain’t no odds to no one, supposing a man keeps his mouth shut…’
‘Oh, go to hell! Off with you! Off with you! It’ll be full daylight in half an hour, and we’ll have people all over the place,’ yelled the horseman furiously. ‘Here, take the beastly thing, and shut your trap!’
‘It’s again my conscience and it’s a-dimmin’ of my holy lights,’ said the carter. The horseman, consigning his holy lights, in a crisp phrase which Mrs. Bradley appreciated without wishing ever to employ, to what he suggested would be their ultimate destination, slung the sack into the cart on top of the billhook, heaped the filthy straw over both, and, having caught his horse which seemed to have forgotten the sack and was grazing quietly at a short distance from the cart-track, he mounted and galloped away.
The carter, with fearful mutterings and some darkly suspicious glances towards the stones, drove slowly off down the hill towards the farm.
When both horseman and wagon had disappeared, the witnesses quietly emerged.
‘If anybody comes, pretend to be gathering mushrooms—or at any rate, looking for some,’ said Mrs. Bradley producing two large paper bags from her pocket and handing one over to her secretary.
But no one appeared, and by the time they had reached the open gateway they could see the wagon almost at the bottom of the hill.
‘Keep under cover,’ said Mrs. Bradley, putting the paper bags away again, ‘and you had better begin cutting a stick from the hedge if the carter chances to look round. We’re a couple of holiday-makers out for an early-morning stroll.’