‘Yah’d as good,’ continued his visitor; ‘it ’ud set ye up, wald a sup o’ this stuff. Uncommon good Hollands! Ye get it fro’ furrin parts, I’se think?’

‘Ay!’

‘Tak’ my advice, and try a glass on’t; them lads ’at’s coming ’ll keep ye talking, nob’dy knows how long: ye’ll need propping.’

‘Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?’ inquired Moore.

‘I seed him a hauf an hour—nay—happen a quarter of an hour sin’, just afore I set off: he said he aimed to come here, and I sudn’t wonder but ye’ll have old Helstone, too; I see’d ’em saddling his little nag as I passed at back o’ t’ Rectory.’

The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag’s hoofs were, five minutes after, heard in the yard; it stopped, and a well-known nasal voice cried aloud:

‘Boy’ (probably addressing Harry Scott, who usually hung about the premises from nine a.m. to five p.m.), ‘take my horse and lead him into the stable.’

Helstone came in, marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, and livelier than usual.

‘Beautiful morning, Moore: how do, my boy? Ha! Whom have we here?’ (turning to the personage with the staff). ‘Sugden! What! you’re going to work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I come to ask explanations; your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are on the right scent? How do you mean to set about the business? Have you got a warrant?’

‘Sugden has.’

‘Then, you are going to seek him now? I’ll accompany you.’

‘You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I’m just now sitting in state, waiting his arrival.’

‘And who is it? One of my parishioners?’

Joe Scott had entered unobserved; he now stood, a most sinister phantom, half his person being dyed of the deepest tint of indigo, leaning on the desk. His master’s answer to the Rector’s question was a smile; Joe took the word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said:

‘It’s a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone; a gentleman you often speak of.’

‘Indeed! His name, Joe?—You look well this morning.’

‘Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough: t’ tub orator you call him sometimes, I think.’

‘Ah!’ said the Rector, taking out his snuff-box and administering to himself a very long pinch—‘Ah! couldn’t have supposed it. Why, the pious man never was a workman of yours, Moore? He’s a tailor by trade.’

‘And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering, and setting my discarded men against me.’

‘And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro’ Moor? He went there—wooden leg and all?’

‘Ay, sir,’ said Joe; ‘he went there on horseback, that his leg mightn’t be noticed. He was the captain, and wore a mask; the rest only had their faces blacked.’

‘And how was he found out?’