The Parson O' Dumford

He hesitated a moment, when Joe Banks said:

“Master Richard will take another twenty.”

“And another score will perhaps go with me,” said the vicar. “Then we’ll each take one road; and mind, my men, every ditch, copse, and pond must be well searched; and, above all, mind and ask at every cottage on the road, who has passed, and what carts or carriages have gone along since last night.”

The parties were soon told off, when the vicar exclaimed:

“But stop! There were two strangers here yesterday.”

“Yes,” chorused several. “Two ill-looking chaps from one of the big towns.”

“Ay,” cried big Harry; “and I sin ’em go up towards the chalk pit.”

“So did I,” said another.

There was silence for a moment or two, and Tom Podmore seemed to feel the place go round, but he roused himself directly as he heard the vicar’s clear ringing voice:

“Then if some treacherous, unmanly scoundrel has not carried off, or persuaded this poor girl to leave father, mother, and home, for his own bad ends, we have found the clue. But mind this, my lads, we are going to run down those two men, but no violence. Let’s take them, but we must prove that they have been guilty.”

“Aw raight, parson;” and the whole party were for a rush up the road towards the chalk pit; but the vicar kept them to their separate tasks; and, glancing upwards, he caught a glimpse of two pale faces at the Big House, and the faces were those of Eve Pelly and Mrs Glaire.

Then each party started, and the search began.

Volume Two – Chapter Ten.

A Fruitless Search

The chalk pit naturally formed the great attraction, and on reaching it, the spots were pointed out where basket and shawl were found; but though a careful search was made by a portion of the force, nothing was for some time found to account for the disappearance.

The party had, however, divided here, and a portion of them, under Big Harry, had hastened along the road toward the Four Alls, the name of the little public-house where it was expected to hear some tidings of the men who had been seen in the town, and who must have passed, even if they were guiltless of wrong. The vicar, however, chose to remain behind, with about ten of his party, and together they began to make a more careful search about the pit – the first investigation being of the low post-and-rail fence which ran along the edge, to see if it was perfect in every part.

Yes, there was no doubt of it; not a rail was broken, or post bent out of the perpendicular, as would probably have been the case had any one fallen against it or been pushed over. Not even a piece of the shallow turf growing on the very brink of the pit was disordered, and the vicar was about to give up that part of the search, when he made a leap forward, and took from a rough splintered portion of the divided fir-pole which formed the rail a tiny scrap of red worsted, such as might very well have been torn from Daisy’s shawl.

“I think we’re on the right track, my lads,” said the vicar. “Now let’s divide, and we’ll search the coppice here, along the edge of the pit.”

The men went eagerly to work, and searched foot by foot the little thin sprinkling of fir trees and gorse that hung upon the edge of the declivity, but without avail – there was not a spot that could have sheltered a human form that was not scanned, and the divided party met at last upon the low ground at the slope of the hill, where the cart track cut its way in, and the lime-kiln stood half-way into the pit.

The vicar paused for a moment by the kiln, and peered in. It was not burning, and in a few minutes he was able to satisfy himself that no one had been in there, and with a shudder he turned away, spreading his men so that step by step they examined the rough white and gray blocks that had been thrown aside or had fallen. Some were fresh and of the purest white, with here and there delicate traces of the pectens and cardiums of a former shelly world; others were hoary and grey, and covered with a frosty lichen; while others, again, were earth-stained and brown.

In accordance with their leader’s instructions, each block was eagerly examined, the vicar’s idea being that it was possible for a cruel murder to have taken place, and for the token of the hideous crime to have been hidden, by laying it in some depression, and piling up the pieces of chalk, of which ample lay ready, for hiding a hundred such crimes.

But, no; there were footmarks here and there, and traces of the edges of the blocks having been chipped by heavy boots; but no spot could be found where they could satisfy themselves that they had been removed.

By this time some forty more sturdy workmen had come up; the event, in the midst of their enforced idleness from the works, being hailed as an excitement; and any amount of muscle was ready to help if directed.

The long search was, however, in vain; and their leader was pondering as to what he should do next, when a rough voice shouted:

“See here, lads. We’ll do ony mander o’ thing to find Joe Banks’s bairn. Come on! let’s hurl ivery bit o’ calk out o’ the pit.”

There was a shout at this, and the men were about to put their project in execution, when the vicar held up his hand.

“It’s waste of strength, my lads,” he said. “I am fully convinced that none of these blocks have been moved. Better search the lanes along the road.”

“Aw raight, parson,” was the cry; and the men left the pit to proceed along the road, the vicar on in front, so as to reach The Four Alls.

Before they had gone far they encountered the rest of their party, returning without further success than that of making the announcement that the men they sought had called there about nine, and had then gone on, being taken up for a lift by a man with a cart.

“What man, and what cart?” said one of the police constables, who had now come up.

The men did not know, and this being an important point, the whole party now hastened on to the little roadside inn – a shabby, dilapidated place, whose shed at the side, which represented the stabling, was falling away from the house, and whose premises generally seemed to be arranged by the owner as places for storing rubbish, dirt, and green scummed pools of water. There was a cart with one wheel, and a mangy horse with one eye, and apparently a ragged hen with one leg, but she put down another, made a low-spirited remark evidently relating to stolen eggs, and went off pecking here and there in a disconsolate manner, as if her search for food were one of the most hopeless pursuits under the sun. There was a garden, roughly fenced in, by the side of the house; but its crop consisted of last year’s gray cabbage-stumps; while, but for the sign over the door, nearly defaced, but having visible the words “wines and spirituous,” the place could hardly have been taken for a place of refreshment, even though the occupant of this attractive spot stood at the door, showing the potency of the said “wines and spirituous” liquors in his reddened and blotched face, as he leaned against the door-post, smoking a long clay pipe, and staring lazily at the party who now came up.

“Can you give us any information about the two men who came here last night?” said the vicar.

“Say?” said the man, staring.

“Gentleman wants to know wheer them chaps is gone,” said the constable.

“How should I know?” said the man, surlily. “Californy or Roosalum, for owt I know.”

“No nonsense, Brumby,” said the constable. “You’d best speak out. Who wheer they?”

“Friends o’ mine,” said the man, taking his pipe out of his mouth for a moment, to relieve himself of a tremendous volume of smoke.

“What were their names?”

“How should I know? They come here, and has a bit o’ rafrashment, and they goes again. What do I keer, so long as they wares their money.”

“Who had they got wi’ ’em?”

“Nobbut their own sens.”

“But I mean when they comed.”

“Look ye here, I hadn’t going to answer all your queshtons.”

“Well, look here; had they any one wi’ ’em when they went away?”

“Nobbat theer own sens,” said the man, sulkily.

“Well, who gave them a lift?”

“Don’t know, on’y as it weer a man in a cart.”

“But you must ha’ seen his name.”

“No, I musn’t if it wern’t painted on,” bawled the man. “What d’yer come wherretin’ me for about it? I don’t ask my customers who comes in for a gill o’ ale wheer they come from, nor wheer they’re going.”

“Had they a young girl with them?” said the vicar, who was getting out of patience.