A Drake by George! Part 31

"The box wur big, but not very heavy," explained Kezia. "It stood upon legs, four of 'em, but a man could lift it off and carry it."

"And the legs would follow after?" suggested the policeman, who believed in making people laugh; but he failed on this occasion.

"They would have to walk back for the legs," Kezia explained.

"How many men did you say there were?"

"Two, but I wouldn't swear to nothing," replied the tactful Bessie.

"If policeman wur to go along the lane he might catch up wi' them,"

suggested Kezia.

The officer declined, pointing out that it would be a physical impossibility for two men to carry such bulky articles all the way to Black Anchor, and a moral impossibility to do so and escape detection.

Then he sought for information concerning the ownership of the purloined property.

"'Tis mine," came the simultaneous answer.

"That wants a lawyer," said the policeman, beginning to show the ac.u.men which was winning him promotion; and when the position had been explained he continued, "Maybe Mrs. Drake left a like paper for Miss Yard?"

"Two of 'em," said Kezia.

"Leaving her everything?"

"Just the house and a pair of silver candlesticks."

"What ha' been stolen," added Bessie.

"And a paper for Miss Blisland?" went on the policeman, longing for a superior officer to hear him.

"Her left she the round table in the parlour, but that be rightfully mine," replied Kezia.

"Mine too," said Bessie.

"Likely enough she left a bit of writing for Mr. Drake?"

"He got a bit, but he wouldn't show it to no one," said Kezia.

"Maybe the person who took the things has got about as much right to them as certain other folks," said the constable darkly. "That's all I can say at present, but I'll make inquiries in the morning," he added, as Robert came up to find out what had happened.

Highfield was an honest place, where a farmer did not wait for a dark night to divert his neighbour's water supply, or postpone the cutting down of a hedge, which did not belong to him, to a misty day. The inhabitants therefore were convulsed with horror when informed by Robert that an act of real dishonesty had happened: to wit, a pair of desperate ruffians had broken into Windward House and departed with much furniture. It became at once obvious to everybody, except the policeman, that the district had been systematically plundered.

Squinting Jack declared, now he came to think of it, eggs had been missing from his hen roost for weeks past; the Wallower in Wealth swore that a sum not exceeding twenty-five shillings had been extracted from his mattress; while the Dumpy Philosopher discovered a number of vacancies among the red cabbages in his back garden.

This being a matter of morality, the vicar was made the victim of a deputation, headed by the Dismal Gibcat, an inevitable but unfortunate selection, as this gentleman had not said his prayers in public for some years, because, according to his own statement, a violent fit of nasal catarrh seized upon him immediately he entered the church. The Dismal Gibcat, encouraged by the silent but moral support of several Nonconformists, who were generally credited with loving their neighbours rather more earnestly than themselves, framed an indictment against the Brocks: they were aliens who had sprung up at Black Anchor with the suddenness of toadstools; no respectable female presides in their kitchen; they were visited frequently by women of a certain cla.s.s; they had already corrupted the young people of the neighbourhood; and were now breaking into houses and removing every article of value.

a.s.sa.s.sination of prominent personages would follow in due course.

"You are entirely mistaken," replied the vicar, somewhat stiffly. "It must be well known to the parish that I often visit the Brocks."

"They do say you'm friendly wi' every one," observed the Dismal Gibcat bitterly, as he was obviously an exception.

"I hope so. At all events I like the Brocks--indeed, I respect them."

"How about they women and gals?" cried the Dismal Gibcat.

"Probably their presence can be explained. As for this robbery, it is ridiculous to suspect the Brocks. I may as well mention that I knew something about them before they came here," said the vicar.

"They ses you turned Sidney out of the choir because he teased the maidens."

"That is quite untrue. He resigned and explained his reason for doing so."

"Well, if they'm friends of yours, 'tis no use us talking; but I believe they took them things as much as if I'd seen 'em doing it. Ain't that the general opinion?" demanded the Dismal Gibcat of his limp supporters.

"I takes volks as I finds 'em," replied the Dumpy Philosopher.

"I wouldn't like to say parson goes shares wi' the Brocks in everything--in every single thing," observed the Dismal Gibcat, as the deputation retired, "but I shouldn't be surprised if a lot o' volk didn't think so."

During this excitement Percy and his young lady arrived, two days before they were expected, and fl.u.s.tered Kezia so that she could think of the robbery only at intervals. Bessie made no mention of it: neither did Robert, though he went to the village shop, purchased a pound of candles, and tried unsuccessfully to buy a bottle of lubricating oil. As it was impossible in Highfield to enter into secret negotiations for the purchase of even a penny tin of mustard, the policeman, in the course of his inquiries, heard about it and, having worked out the problem without the aid of pencil and notebook, he proceeded to the bakery and told Robert he ought to be ashamed of himself.

"For why?" asked the a.s.sistant baker, with the a.s.surance of a man who had nine points of the law in his favour.

"What did you buy this morning at Mrs. Trivell's shop?"

"Bottle o' blacking," replied Robert.

"Sure it wasn't whitewash? What else did you buy?"

"Penn'orth o' blacklead," said Robert cheerfully.

"Making the case pretty black, ain't you? You didn't buy a pound of candles, of course--best wax candles. But, if you did buy candles, what were you going to do with them?"

"I don't know what you can do wi' candles except light them," said Robert.

"And you didn't buy a bottle of lubricating oil, because Mrs. Trivell hasn't got any. If you did buy a bottle of salad oil, what would you be going to do with it?" continued the policeman, in his best and brainish manner.

"You can do pretty near anything wi' salad oil," declared Robert.

"Among the things stolen from Windward House last night were a pair of silver candlesticks and a musical box, out of order, but perhaps it might play a tune if you oiled the works," said the policeman sternly.

Robert stroked his nose and mentioned that an officer who could put one thing to another like that, was not at all required in Highfield parish.

"What were you doing when this robbery was taking place?" came the question.

"I fancy I might have been giving a hand," Robert admitted cautiously.

"Who helped you?"

"I don't know as anybody helped. But it wasn't a robbery, vor Mrs. Drake left all the things to Bessie," said Robert cheerfully.

"And to other folks as well."