The ferment increased. The arguments in the neighbourhood were worthy of being listened to, if only from a logical point of view. If Rupert Trevlyn had stated that he was going back to the Hold after the proceedings at Barmester; and if Rupert Trevlyn never reached the Hold, clearly Mr. Chattaway had killed and buried him. Absurd as the deduction may be from a dispassionate point of view, to those excited gentry it appeared not only a feasible but a certain conclusion. The thing could not rest; interviews were held with Mr. Peterby, who was supposed to be the only person able to take up the matter on the part of the missing and ill-used Rupert; and that gentleman bestirred himself to make secret inquiries.

One dark night, between eight and nine, the inmates of the lodge were disturbed by a loud imperative knocking at their door. Ann Canham—trying her poor eyes over some dark sewing by the light of the solitary candle—started from her chair, and remarked that her heart had leaped into her mouth.

Which may have been a reason, possibly, for standing still, face and hands uplifted in consternation, instead of answering the knock. It was repeated more imperatively.

Old Canham turned his head and looked at her, as he smoked his last evening pipe over the fire. "Thee must open it, Ann."

Seeing no help for it, she went meekly to the door, wringing her hands. What she feared was best known to herself; but in point of fact, since Bowen, the superintendent, had pounced upon her a few days before, as she was going past the police-station, handed her inside, and put her through sundry questions as we put a boy through his catechism, she had lived in a state of tremor. She may have concluded it was Bowen now, with the fellow handcuffs to those which had adorned Jim Sanders.

It proved to be Mr. Peterby. Ann looked surprised, but lost three parts of her fear. Dropping her humble curtsey, she was about to ask his pleasure, when he brushed past her without ceremony, and stepped into the kitchen.

"Shut the door," were his first words to her. "How are you, Canham?"

Mark had risen, and stood with doubtful gaze, wondering, no doubt, what the visit could mean. "I be but middlin', sir," he answered, putting his pipe in the corner of the hearth. "We ain't none of us too well, I reckon, with this uncertainty hanging over our minds, as to poor Master Rupert."

"It is the business I have come about. Sit down, Ann," Mr. Peterby added, settling himself on the bench opposite Mark. "I want to ask you a few questions."

"Yes, sir," she meekly answered. But her hands shook, and she nearly dropped the work she had taken up.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," cried Mr. Peterby, noticing the emotion. "I am not going to accuse you of putting him out of sight, as it seems busy tongues are accusing somebody else. On the night the encounter took place between Mr. Chattaway and Rupert Trevlyn, you were passing near the spot, I believe. You must tell me all you saw. First of all, as I am told, you encountered Rupert."

Ann Canham raised her shaking hand to her brow. Mr. Peterby had begun his questioning in a hard, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were examining a witness in court, and it did not tend to reassure her. Ann was often laughed at for her timidity. She gave him the account of her interview with Rupert as correctly as she could remember it.

"He said nothing of his intention of going off anywhere?" asked Mr. Peterby, when she had finished.

"Not a word, sir. He said he had nowhere to go to; if he went to the Hold, Mr. Chattaway might be for horsewhipping him again. He thought he should lie under the trees till morning."

"Did you leave him there?"

"I left him sitting on the stile, sir, eating the bread. He had complained of hunger, and I got him to take a part of a cake Mrs. Freeman had given me for my father."

"You told Bowen, the superintendent of the police-station, that you asked him to take refuge in the lodge for the night?"

"Yes, sir," after a slight pause. "Mr. Bowen put a heap of questions to me, and what with being confused, and the fright of his calling me into the place, I didn't well know what I said to him."

"But you did ask Rupert Trevlyn?"

"I asked him if he'd be pleased to take shelter in the lodge till the morning, as he seemed to have nowhere to go to. But he spoke out quite sharp, at my asking it, and said, did I think he wanted to get me and father into trouble with Mr. Chattaway? So I went away, leaving him there."

"Well, now, just tell me whom you met afterwards."

"I hadn't got above three-parts up the field, sir, when I met Mr. Chattaway. I stood off the narrow path to let him pass, and wished him good night, but he didn't answer me: he went on. Just as I came close to the road-stile, I see Jim Sanders coming over it, so I asked him where he had been, and how he had got back again, having heard he'd not been found all day, and he answered rather impertinently that he'd been up in the moon. The moon was uncommon bright that night, sir," she simply added.

"Was that all Jim Sanders said?"

"Yes, sir, every word. He went on down the path as if he was in a hurry."

"In the direction Mr. Chattaway had taken?"

"The very same. There is but that one path, sir."

"And that was the last you saw of them?"

Ann Canham stopped to snuff the candle before she answered. "That was all, sir. I was hastening to get back to father, knowing he'd be wanting me, for I was late. Mr. Bowen kep' on telling me it was strange I heard nothing of the encounter, but I never did. I must ha' been out of the field long before Mr. Chattaway could get up to Master Rupert."

"Pity but you had waited and gone back," observed Mr. Peterby, musingly. "It might have prevented what occurred."

"Pity, perhaps, but I had, sir. It never entered my head that anything bad would come of their meeting. Since, after I came to know what did happen, I wondered I had not thought of it. But if I had, sir, I shouldn't have dared go back after Mr. Chattaway. It wouldn't have been my place."

Mr. Peterby sat looking at Ann, as she imagined. In point of fact he was so buried in thought as to see nothing. He rose from the settle. "And this is all you know about it! Well, it amounts to nothing beyond establishing the fact that all three—Rupert Trevlyn, Mr. Chattaway, and the boy—were on the spot at that time. Good night, Canham. I hope your rheumatism will get easier."

Ann Canham opened the door, and wished him good night. When he was fairly gone she slipped the bolt, and stood with her back against it, to recover her equanimity.

"Father, my heart was in my mouth all the time he was here," she repeated. "I be all of a twitter."

"More stupid you!" was the sympathising answer of old Canham.

The public ferment, I say, did not lessen, and the matter was at length carried before the magistrates; so far as that the advice of one of them was asked by Mr. Peterby. It happened that Mr. Chattaway had gone this very day to Barmester. He was standing at the entrance to the inn-yard where he generally put up, when his solicitor, Flood, approached, evidently in a state of excitement.

"What a mercy I found you!" he exclaimed, quite out of breath. "Jackson told me you were in town. Come along!"

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Chattaway.

"Matter? There's matter enough. Peterby's before the magistrates at this very moment preferring a charge against you for having murdered Rupert Trevlyn. I got word of it in the oddest manner, and——"

"What do you say?" interrupted Chattaway, his face blazing, as he stood stock still, and refused to stir another step without an answer.

"Come along, I say. There's some application being made to the magistrates about you, and my advice is——Mr. Chattaway," added the lawyer, in a deeper, almost an agitated tone, as he abruptly broke off his words, "I assume that you are innocent of this. You are?"

"Before Heaven, I am innocent!" thundered Chattaway. "What do you mean, Flood?"

"Then make haste. My advice to you is, go right into the midst of it, and confront Peterby. Don't let the magistrates hear only one side of the question. Make your explanation and set these nasty rumours at rest. It is what you ought to have done at first."

Apparently eager as himself now, Mr. Chattaway strode along. They found on reaching the courts that some trifling cause was being heard by the magistrates, nothing at all connected with Mr. Chattaway. But the explanation was forthcoming, Mr. Peterby was in a private room with one of the Bench only—a Captain Mynn. With scant ceremony the interview was broken in upon by the intruders.

There was no formal complaint being made, no accusation lodged, or warrant applied for. Mr. Peterby, who was on terms of intimacy with Captain Mynn, was laying the case before him unofficially, and asking his advice as a friend. A short explanation on either side ensued, and Mr. Peterby turned to Mr. Chattaway.

"This has been forced upon me," he said. "For days and days past I have been urged to apply for a warrant against you, and have declined. But public opinion is becoming so urgent, that if I don't act it will be taken out of my hands, and given to those who have less scruple than I. Therefore I resolved to adopt a medium course; and came here asking Captain Mynn's opinion as a friend—not as a magistrate—whether I should have sufficient grounds for acting. For myself, I honestly confess I think them very slight; and assure you, Mr. Chattaway, that I am no enemy of yours, although it may look like it at this moment."

"By whom have you been urged to this?" coldly asked Mr. Chattaway.

"By more than I should care to name: the public, to give them a collective term. But how you obtained cognisance of my being here, I can't make out," he added, turning to Mr. Flood. "Not a soul knew I was coming."

"As we have met here, we had better have it out," was Mr. Flood's indirect answer. "It is my advice to Mr. Chattaway, and he wishes it. If Captain Mynn hears your side unofficially he must, in justice, hear ours. That's fair, all the world over."

It was, doubtless, a very unusual, perhaps unorthodox, mode of proceeding; but things far more unorthodox than that are done in local courts every day. Captain Mynn knew all the doubts and rumours just as well as Mr. Peterby could state them, but he listened attentively, as in duty bound. Mr. Chattaway did not deny the encounter with Rupert: never had denied it. He acknowledged they were neither of them very cool; Rupert was the first to strike, and Rupert fell or was knocked down. Immediately upon that, he, Chattaway, heard a sound, went to see what it was, and found they had had an eavesdropper, who was then making off across the field, on the other side of the grove. Chattaway, angry at the fact, gave pursuit, in the hope of identifying the intruder (whom he had since discovered to be Jim Sanders), but was unable to catch him. When he got back to the spot, Rupert was gone.

"How long were you absent?" inquired Captain Mynn of Mr. Chattaway.

"About six or seven minutes, I think. I ran to the other end of the field, and looked into the lane, but the boy had escaped out of sight, and I walked back again. It would take about seven minutes; the field is large."

"And after that?"

"Finding, as I tell you, that Rupert had disappeared, I re-traversed the ground over the lower field, and went on to Barbrook, where I had business. I never saw Rupert Trevlyn after I left him on the ground. The inference, therefore—nay, the absolute certainty—is, that he got up and escaped."

A pause. "You did not reach home, I believe, until midnight, or thereabouts," remarked Captain Mynn. "Some doubts have been raised as to where you could have spent your time."

And this question led to the very core of the suspicion. Mr. Chattaway appeared to feel that it did, and hesitated. So far he had spoken freely and openly enough, not with the ungracious, sullen manner that generally characterised him, but he hesitated now.

"Strange to say," he resumed, "I could not account for the whole of my time that evening. That is, if I were asked for proof, I am not sure that it could be furnished. I was anxious to see Hurnall, the agent for the Boorfield mines, and that's where I went. My son had brought home news from Blackstone, that they were going to force me to make certain improvements in my pit, and I wanted to consult Hurnall about it. He is up to every trick and turn, and knows what they can compel an owner to do and what they can't. When I reached Hurnall's house, he was out; might return immediately, the servant said, or might not be home till late. She asked me if I would go in and wait; but I had no fancy for a close room, after being boxed up all day in the court here, and said I would walk about. I walked about for two mortal hours before Hurnall came; and then went indoors with him. That's the whole truth, I'll swear."

"Then I would have avowed it before, had I been you," cried Mr. Peterby. "It's your silence has done half the mischief, and given colouring to the rumours."

"Silence!" cried Mr. Chattaway, angrily. "When a man's accused of murder by a set of brainless idiots it is punishment he'd like to give them, not self-defence."

"Ah!" said the lawyer, "but we can't always do as we like; if we could, the world might be better worth living in."

Mr. Chattaway turned to the magistrate. "I have told you the whole truth, so far as I know it; and you may judge whether these unneighbourly reports have not merited all my contempt. You can question Hurnall, who will tell you where he met me, and how long I stayed with him. As to Rupert Trevlyn, I have no more idea where he is than Mr. Peterby himself has. He will turn up some time, there's not the least doubt about it; and I solemnly declare that I'll then bring him to justice, should it be ten years hence."

There was nothing more for Mr. Chattaway to wait for, and he went out with his solicitor. Mr. Peterby turned to Captain Mynn with a questioning glance.

The magistrate shook his head. "My opinion is that you cannot proceed with this, Mr. Peterby. Were you to bring the matter officially before the Bench, I for one would not entertain it; neither, I am sure, would my brother-magistrates. Mr. Chattaway is no favourite of ours, but he must receive justice. That there are suspicious points connected with the case, I can't deny; but every one may be explained away. If what he says be true, they are explained now."

"All but the two hours, when he says he was walking about, waiting for Hurnall."

"It may have been so. No; upon these very slight grounds, it is of no use to press for a warrant against Mr. Chattaway. The very enormity of the crime would almost be its answer. A man of position and property, a county magistrate, guilty of the crime of murder in these enlightened days! Nonsense, Peterby!"

And Mr. Peterby mentally echoed the words; and went forth prepared to echo them to those who had urged him to make the charge.