“Well, yes; I have,” said Toogood.
“I believe you’re one of them attorneys from London?” said Mr. Dan Stringer.
“That’s true. I am an attorney from London.”
“I hope there’s nothing wrong?” said the gouty man, trying to get off his chair, but not succeeding. “If there is anything wronger than usual, Dan, do tell me. Is there anything wrong, sir?” and the landlord appealed piteously to Mr. Toogood.
“Never you mind, John,” said Dan. “You keep yourself quiet, and don’t answer none of his questions. He’s one of them low sort, he is. I know him. I knowed him for what he is directly I saw him. Ferreting about—that’s his game; to see if there’s anything to be got.”
“But what is he ferreting here for?” said Mr. John Stringer.
“I’m ferreting for Mr. Soames’s cheque for twenty pounds,” said Mr. Toogood.
“That’s the cheque that the parson stole,” said Dan Stringer. “He’s to be tried for it at the ’sizes.”
“You’ve heard about Mr. Soames and his cheque, and about Mr. Crawley, I daresay?” said Toogood.
“I’ve heard a deal about them,” said the landlord.
“And so, I daresay, have you?” said Toogood, turning to Dan Stringer. But Dan Stringer did not seem inclined to carry on the conversation any further. When he was hardly pressed, he declared that he just had heard that there was some parson in trouble about a sum of money; but that he knew no more about it than that. He didn’t know whether it was a cheque or a note that the parson had taken, and had never been sufficiently interested in the matter to make any inquiry.
“But you’ve just said that Mr. Soames’s cheque was the cheque the parson stole,” said the astonished landlord, turning with open eyes upon his cousin.
“You be blowed,” said Dan Stringer, the clerk, to Mr. John Stringer, the landlord; and then walked out of the room back to the bar.
“I understand nothing about it—nothing at all,” said the gouty man.
“I understand pretty nearly all about it,” said Mr. Toogood, following the red-nosed clerk. There was no necessity that he should trouble the landlord any further. He left the room, and went through the bar, and as he passed out along the hall, he found Dan Stringer with his hat on talking to the waiter. The waiter immediately pulled himself up, and adjusted his dirty napkin under his arm, after the fashion of waiters, and showed that he intended to be civil to the customers of the house. But he of the red nose cocked his hat, and looked with insolence at Mr. Toogood, and defied him. “There’s nothing I do hate so much as them lowbred Old Bailey attorneys,” said Mr. Dan Stringer to the waiter, in a voice intended to reach Mr. Toogood’s ears. Then Mr. Toogood told himself that Dan Stringer was not the thief himself, and that it might be very difficult to prove that Dan had even been the receiver of stolen goods. He had, however, no doubt in his own mind but that such was the case.
He first went to the police office, and there explained his business. Nobody at the police office pretended to forget Mr. Soames’s cheque, or Mr. Crawley’s position. The constable went so far as to swear that there wasn’t a man, woman, or child in all Barchester who was not talking of Mr. Crawley at that very moment. Then Mr. Toogood went with the constable to the private house of the mayor, and had a little conversation with the mayor.
“Not guilty!” said the mayor, with incredulity, when he first heard the news about Crawley. But when he heard Mr. Toogood’s story, or as much of it as it was necessary that he should hear, he yielded reluctantly. “Dear, dear!” he said. “I’d have bet anything ’twas he who stole it.” And after that the mayor was quite sad. Only let us think what a comfortable excitement it would create throughout England if it was surmised that an archbishop had forged a deed; and how much England would lose when it was discovered that the archbishop was innocent! As the archbishop and his forgery would be to England, so was Mr. Crawley and the cheque for twenty pounds to Barchester and its mayor. Nevertheless, the mayor promised his assistance to Mr. Toogood.
Mr. Toogood, still neglecting his red-nosed friend, went next to the deanery, hoping that he might again see Mr. Harding. Mr. Harding was, he was told, too ill to be seen. Mr. Harding, Mrs. Baxter said, could never be seen now by strangers, nor yet by friends, unless they were very old friends. “There’s been a deal of change since you were here last, sir. I remember your coming, sir. You were talking to Mr. Harding about the poor clergyman as is to be tried.” He did not stop to tell Mrs. Baxter the whole story of Mr. Crawley’s innocence; but having learned that a message had been received to say that Mrs. Arabin would be home on the next Tuesday—this being Friday—he took his leave of Mrs. Baxter. His next visit was to Mr. Soames, who lived three miles out in the country.
He found it very difficult to convince Mr. Soames. Mr. Soames was more staunch in his belief of Mr. Crawley’s guilt than anyone whom Toogood had yet encountered.
“I never took the cheque out of his house,” said Mr. Soames.
“But you have not stated that on oath,” said Mr. Toogood.
“No,” rejoined the other; “and I never will. I can’t swear
