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Page 88
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."
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