“Now let’s hear this story of Turner’s again,” went on Wharton, and Stone replied:
“The police went up from the valley to one of those derelict farmhouses just over the ridge to the north, and they found a dead man in one of them.”
“There are two farmhouses over there, but only one of them is uninhabited,” said Wharton. “I hiked over there one day to consider the chances of levelling a track to join up with the road down to the nearest village, Crossghyll, isn’t it? The more easterly of the two farmhouses, High Garth, hasn’t been lived in for years; it does look derelict, a grim stone house set on the moor, without any sort of road or track. The other farm, Fellcock, changed hands last Michaelmas. A chap named Macdonald bought it and he put a young couple into the house: the man, Shearling, cultivates the land and tends the stock and his wife helps him. Fellcock’s a well-cared-for ‘steading,’ as they say in these parts. I had a word with the boss, Mr. Macdonald: he doesn’t live there, but comes up occasionally to keep an eye on things, meaning to live there one day, when he retires. A very nice chap, I thought, though he had no opinion of my idea of a track: didn’t want our gangers coming on his land.”
“Then it would have been High Garth where the body was found, the uninhabited place,” said Stone. “Turner mentioned a Macdonald, but I thought he said the chap was a policeman, not a farmer.”
“It’s a common enough name,” said Wharton. “Now what about the farmer who was attacked, that happened this afternoon, didn’t it?”
“Yes, so Turner said.”
“Well, maybe we can do a spot of detection on our own,” said Wharton. “I’ll talk to Lawley. I have an idea he’ll have had his eyes open this afternoon. They were doing a bit of blasting, clearing some rock, and I happen to know that Lawley watches out when they’re using explosives, keeps his gangs in regular files while they’re standing by, so that there’s no chance of accidents.”
Stone chuckled: “And no chance of larceny either,” he added. “We’ve had some characters who’d make off with detonators and suchlike if they had the chance.”
Wharton nodded. “I know. Well, send Lawley along here. The sooner I get this sorted out the better.”
2
Bob Lawley, a tough grizzled man approaching fifty, was a first-rate overseer, who made it his job to know the men he supervised and was in the main trusted by them. Wharton knew that it was Lawley’s ability in dealing with the gangs which was largely responsible for the success of the present operation.
“Hallo, Bob,” said Wharton, “have you heard this story which Turner’s been spreading round?”
“I heard it, boss, and I reckon I thought the same thing as you did. We shall be having the police round and the chaps will resent it. Evan Thomas has been spouting hot air already, you’ll remember Thomas was with us when the police were on the job at Trenant. ‘Always the bloody working man they makes for,’ you know the form.”
“I know it,” agreed Wharton and Lawley went on: ‘There’s two parts to this story of Turner’s, boss: a dead man in an empty farmhouse, a house that’s all bolted and barred, that’s one part: the second is an attack on a farmer close by the house this afternoon. Well, we’re in luck over part two. It happens that Andy Wright and I know where all our chaps were this afternoon.”
“I hoped you’d say that, Bob. I heard your charges going off.”
“That’s it. We blasted out that rock which lay across our line. Now I’ve seen a lot of jobs like this, when explosive was used, and I’ve learnt the snags. First you’ve got to keep your eyes skinned to see that none of the chaps get away with detonators or gelignite. We had some of that in Scotland, as you’ll remember. Then you’ve got to see the silly mugs don’t go spreading out, getting too near the charge when it’s being fired. We had forty-eight men out—all four gangs—this afternoon. I supervised the shot-firing party, all men we know. Andy Wright had two gangs of a dozen each, ready to shift the rock we broke up, and Jim Bolt had a dozen maintenance men, checking the engines and drills and other gear. And we can swear to it that the men in every section were all present and correct.”
“That’s fine,” said Wharton. “Now let’s have a word about the men themselves. If the police come up here, they’re sure to ask you.”
“They’re welcome. Most of the chaps have been on the company’s books since Trenant, and we’ve never had any trouble with them. Stone says he has to look out for pilfering, when he’s shifting canteen stores, but that can happen anywhere. I’d say the light-fingered blokes are among that dozen who signed on after the Pembridge harbour works finished their contract I wouldn’t put it past any of them to pinch what he thought he could get away with, but there’s this: not a single bloke of that lot would walk a mile on a decent metalled road if he could help it; as for walking five or six miles over these mucking moors, I just don’t believe it.”
“Well, we’ve got their records,” said Wharton. “We know they worked on the Pembridge job and there was no trouble there. Now what about the odd lot you had to take on when we got Asian ’flu up here?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about them. They signed on for a month, a dozen of them. Six are still here, good steady workers, too. Four of them went at the end of the month and I was glad to see them go—grousers, always complaining and making other chaps discontented. Then there were two Irishmen: they left before their month.”
“I seem to remember you had trouble with them, fighting
