On the previous evening, Pratt—had he but known it—made a great mistake. Instead of going into Murgatroyd’s shop after he had watched Byner and Prydale away from it—he should have followed those two astute and crafty persons, and have ascertained something of their movements. Had he done so, he would certainly not have troubled to return to Peel Row, nor to remain in Barford an hour longer than was absolutely necessary. For Pratt was sharp-witted enough when it came to a question of putting one and two together, and if he had tracked Prydale and the unknown man who was with him to a certain house whereto they repaired as soon as they quitted Murgatroyd’s shop, he would have drawn an inference from the mere fact of their visit which would have thrown him into a cold sweat of fear. But Pratt, after all, was only one man, one brain, one body, and could not be in two places, nor go in two ways, at the same time. He took his own way—ignorant of his destruction.
Byner also took a way of his own. As soon as he and Prydale left Murgatroyd’s shop, they chartered the first cab they met with, and ordered its driver to go to Whitcliffe Moor.
“It’s the quickest thing to do—if my theory’s correct,” observed Byner, as they drove along, “Of course, it is all theory—mere theory! But I’ve grounds for it. The place—the time—mere lonely situation—that scrap iron lying about, which would be so useful in weighting a dead body!—I tell you, I shall be surprised if we don’t find Parrawhite at the bottom of that water!”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Prydale. “One thing’s very certain, as we shall prove before we’re through with it—Pratt’s put that poor devil Murgatroyd up to this passage-to-America business. And a bit clumsily, too—fancy Murgatroyd being no better posted up than to tell me that Parrawhite called on him at a certain hour that night!”
“But you’ve got to remember that Pratt didn’t know of Parrawhite’s affairs with Pickard, nor that he was at the Green Man at that hour,” rejoined Byner. “My belief is that Pratt thinks himself safe—that he fancies he’s provided for all contingencies. If things turn out as I think they will, I believe we shall find Pratt calmly seated at his desk tomorrow morning.”
“Well—if things do turn out as you expect, we’ll lose no time in seeking him there!” observed Prydale dryly. “We’d better arrange to get the job done first thing.”
“This Mr. Shepherd’ll make no objection, I suppose?” asked Byner.
“Objection! Lor’ bless you—he’ll love it!” exclaimed Prydale. “It’ll be a bit of welcome diversion to a man like him that’s naught to do. He’ll object none, not he!”
Shepherd, a retired quarry-owner, who lived in a picturesque old stone house in the middle of Whitcliffe Moor, with nothing to occupy his attention but the growing of roses and vegetables, and an occasional glance at the local newspapers, listened to Prydale’s request with gradually rising curiosity. Byner had at once seen that this call was welcome to this bluff and hearty Yorkshireman, who, without any question as to their business, had immediately welcomed them to his hearth and pressed liquor and cigars on them: he sized up Shepherd as a man to whom any sort of break in the placid course of retired life was a delightful event.
“A dead man i’ that old shaft i’ one o’ my worked out quarries!” he exclaimed. “Ye don’t mean to say so! An’ how long d’yer think he might ha’ been there, now, Prydale?”
“Some months, Mr. Shepherd,” replied the detective.
“Why, then it’s high time he were taken out,” said Shepherd. “When might you be thinkin’ o’ doin’ t’ job, like?”
“As soon as possible,” said Prydale. “Tomorrow morning, early, if that’s convenient to you.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” observed the retired quarry-owner. “You leave t’ job to me. I’ll get two or three men first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll do it reight. You be up there by half-past eight o’clock, and we’ll soon satisfy you as to whether there’s owt i’ t’ shape of a dead man or not i’ t’ pit. You hev’ grounds for believin’ ’at theer is—what?”
“Strong grounds!” replied the detective, “and equally strong ones for believing the man came there by foul play, too.”
“Say no more!” said Shepherd. “T’ mystery shall be cleared up. Deary me! An’ to think ’at I’ve walked past yon theer pit many a dozen times within this last few o’ months, and nivver dreamed ’at theer wor owt in it but watter! Howivver, gentlemen, ye can put yer minds at ease—we’ll investigate the circumstances, as the sayin’ goes, before noon tomorrow.”
“One other matter,” remarked Prydale. “We want things kept quiet. We don’t want all the folk of the neighbourhood round about, you know.”
“Leave it to me,” answered Shepherd. “There’ll be me, and these men, and yourselves—and a pair of grapplin’ irons. We’ll do it quiet and comfortable—and we’ll do it reight.”
“Odd character!” remarked Byner, when he and Prydale went away.
“Useful man—for a job of that sort,” said the detective laconically. “Now then—are we going to let anybody else know what we’re after—Mr. Eldrick or Mr. Collingwood, for instance? Do you want them, or either of them, to be present?”
“No!” answered Byner, after a moment’s reflection. “Let us see what results. We can let them know, soon enough,
