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This yoong man, Muster Wharton, as is goin' round so free, promisin' yer the sun out o' the sky, iv yer'll only vote for 'im, so th' men say ee don't coom an' set down along o' you an' me, an' cocker of us up as ee do Joe Simmons or Jim Hurd here. But that don't matter. Yur thinkin's yur own, anyway." But she nudged him in vain.
Moreover, she was aware of the inspector standing at the kitchen door and beckoning to her. She stole across to him so softly that Mrs. Hurd did not hear her. "We have found all we want," he said in his official tone, but under his breath "the clothes anyway. We must now look for the gun. Jenkins is first going to take him off to Widrington.
Paul detailed what Sylvia and Deborah had said. "So if she is over thirty," said Beecot, "she can't be Krill's child, or else she must have been born before Krill married his wife. In either case, she has no right to the money." "It's strange," said Hurd, musingly. "I'll have to look into that. Meanwhile, I've got plenty to do." "There's another thing I have to say." "You'll confuse me, Beecot.
The solicitor changed color again. "I don't understand you." Paul shrugged his shoulders and rose to go. "Perhaps Mr. Hurd will explain," he said, and made for the door. Pash, with his monkey face much perplexed, sat hunched in his chair, biting his fingers. As Paul laid his hand on the knob, he called him back. "I can explain," he said nervously. "Not to me," said Paul, coldly.
"Your father said those real estate papers were worth money, so maybe the tramp that found them in the pocket of the old coat sold them." Russ and Laddie looked sad on hearing this. Suppose, after all, Daddy Bunker should not get his papers back? That would be too bad! "As I say," went on Mr. Hurd, "I know only what some one told me. It was another man who works for Mr. Barker.
Hurd, the pompous and dictatorial Bishop of Worcester, was a dreaded martinet of letters, carrying on the tradition of his yet more formidable master Warburton. As people nowadays discuss Verlaine and Ibsen, so they argued in those days about Godwin and Horne Tooke, and shuddered over each fresh incarnation of Mrs. Radcliffe.
Marcella hung over her, one flame of passionate pity, comforting, soothing, promising help. Mrs. Hurd presently recovered enough to tell her that Hurd had gone off that morning before it was light to a farm near Thame, where it had been told him he might possibly find a job.
"I have heard all about that from Bart Tawsey, his shopman. Skip it and go on." "I can only go on so far as to say that Miss Norman will probably inherit a fortune of five thousand a year, beside the jewels contained in those bags. That is," said Mr. Pash, wisely, "if the jewels be not redeemed by those who pawned them." "Is there a will?" asked Hurd, rising to take his leave.
Pan went swiftly up to the wall, and thence along it to the corner. The light came from an open door. He listened. There was no sound. Luckily Hurd was alone. Pan slipped round the corner and entered. Hurd sat at the table in the flare of a lamp, turned down low. "Ha! Was waitin' fer you, an' beginnin' to worry," he said, in hoarse whisper. "Plenty of time, if Blake's all ready," replied Pan.
And, by Jove!" added Beecot, with an after-thought, "Mrs. Krill doubled the reward. Were she concerned in the matter she would not risk sharpening the wits of so clever a man as Hurd. No, Sylvia, whosoever strangled your father it was not Mrs. Krill." "It was this Indian," insisted Sylvia, "and he's a Thug." Paul laughed although he was far from thinking she might be wrong.
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