They sent Millie across the street through the golden
five o’clock sunshine to rouse up Mr. Sandy
Wadgers, the blacksmith. Mr. Hall’s compliments
and the furniture upstairs was behaving most extraordinary.
Would Mr. Wadgers come round? He was a knowing
man, was Mr. Wadgers, and very resourceful. He
took quite a grave view of the case. “Arm
darmed if thet ent witchcraft,” was the view
of Mr. Sandy Wadgers. “You warnt horseshoes
for such gentry as he.”
He came round greatly concerned. They wanted
him to lead the way upstairs to the room, but he didn’t
seem to be in any hurry. He preferred to talk
in the passage. Over the way Huxter’s apprentice
came out and began taking down the shutters of the
tobacco window. He was called over to join the
discussion. Mr. Huxter naturally followed over
in the course of a few minutes. The Anglo-Saxon
genius for parliamentary government asserted itself;
there was a great deal of talk and no decisive action.
“Let’s have the facts first,” insisted
Mr. Sandy Wadgers. “Let’s be sure
we’d be acting perfectly right in bustin’
that there door open. A door onbust is always
open to bustin’, but ye can’t onbust a
door once you’ve busted en.”
And suddenly and most wonderfully the door of the
room upstairs opened of its own accord, and as they
looked up in amazement, they saw descending the stairs
the muffled figure of the stranger staring more blackly
and blankly than ever with those unreasonably large
blue glass eyes of his. He came down stiffly and
slowly, staring all the time; he walked across the
passage staring, then stopped.
“Look there!” he said, and their eyes
followed the direction of his gloved finger and saw
a bottle of sarsaparilla hard by the cellar door.
Then he entered the parlour, and suddenly, swiftly,
viciously, slammed the door in their faces.
Not a word was spoken until the last echoes of the
slam had died away. They stared at one another.
“Well, if that don’t lick everything!”
said Mr. Wadgers, and left the alternative unsaid.
“I’d go in and ask’n ’bout
it,” said Wadgers, to Mr. Hall. “I’d
d’mand an explanation.”
It took some time to bring the landlady’s husband
up to that pitch. At last he rapped, opened the
door, and got as far as, “Excuse me—”
“Go to the devil!” said the stranger in
a tremendous voice, and “Shut that door after
you.” So that brief interview terminated.
CHAPTER VII
THE UNVEILING OF THE STRANGER
The stranger went into the little parlour of the “Coach
and Horses” about half-past five in the morning,
and there he remained until near midday, the blinds
down, the door shut, and none, after Hall’s
repulse, venturing near him.
All that time he must have fasted. Thrice he
rang his bell, the third time furiously and continuously,
but no one answered him. “Him and his ‘go
to the devil’ indeed!” said Mrs. Hall.
Presently came an imperfect rumour of the burglary
at the vicarage, and two and two were put together.
Hall, assisted by Wadgers, went off to find Mr. Shuckleforth,
the magistrate, and take his advice. No one ventured
upstairs. How the stranger occupied himself is
unknown. Now and then he would stride violently
up and down, and twice came an outburst of curses,
a tearing of paper, and a violent smashing of bottles.
