"How much was there?" asked Taffendale. He was beginning to see now that there was something out of the common in all this; and Perris was carrying some design into execution, and he grew vaguely fearful of what its meaning might be.
"How much?" he repeated.
Rhoda hesitated as if she feared to answer. She was still nervously plucking at the twigs and leaves of the hedge, and alternately glancing from Taffendale to the house.
"I'm afraid it was a foolish thing to keep so much there," she said, at last. "We'd been talking about putting it in the bank only last Sunday."
"How much was there?" asked Taffendale, impatiently.
"There was between fifty and sixty pounds," she answered.
Taffendale screwed up his lips.
"So that, if he has gone away, he's carried at least a hundred and fifty pounds with him," he said, presently. "Well—I'm afraid he's off. It looks like it—it looks very like it!"
Rhoda pushed herself forward over the top of the hedge. Her face flushed as Taffendale bent nearer to her.
"Mark!" she said. "Mark! Do you think it's because—because he'd heard aught about—you and me?"
Taffendale frowned. But when he remembered his interview with the gamekeeper that morning he felt that Rhoda's suggestion was probable.
"I don't know—I don't know!" he said hastily. "There's time enough to think about that. I'm afraid he's gone, though. I shouldn't have thought anything at all about his selling the wheat and being away for a day or two; it's the taking of the money from the drawer that seems to settle it. He hasn t left a scrap of writing about, saying anything?"
Rhoda shook her head.
"I never thought to look, but I'm sure he hasn't," she answered. "No, it's just what he would do, Perris, to go off in that quiet, sly way. He—here's the man coming back for the wheat."
At sight of Mawson's wagoner coming round the corner of the garden, Taffendale edged his horse away from the orchard fence and rode on to the gate.
"I'll speak to him," he said, over his shoulder.
"Of course, he'll have to take it."
The wagoner, who knew Mr. Taffendale well enough, touched his cap as the limeburner rode up to him.
"Now, my lad," said Taffendale, pleasantly.
"Mrs. Perris tells me you've come for that wheat. Mr. Perris isn't at home, but I suppose it's all right—you've got an order for delivery?"
The wagoner pulled out a scrap of paper.
"Aw, it's all reight, Mestur Taffendale, sir," he replied. "Here's t' order—I were there when our maister bowt t' wheat, and I see'd him pay Mestur Perris for it. And they 'greed that I should fetch it this mornin'."
"All right—all right," said Taffendale. He entered the little enclosure at the corner of the house, and having dismounted from his horse, tied it up to a tree. Going into the house-place he bade the young labourer finish his dinner quickly and go to help the wagoner. "That's all in order," he said to Rhoda when they were alone. "Of course, as I said just now, he'll have to take the wheat. That's settled. Now—is there anything to show that he meant to be off?"
"There's nothing," replied Rhoda, looking helplessly around her. "He just went out as he always did when he went to market—he'd his second-best suit on, and it's not over new. You don't think—"
She paused, and looked at Taffendale with eyes in which he read some fear that had not come to full expression.
"Think—what?" he asked.
"Think that—that aught's happened to him?" she murmured.
"What could happen to him?" said Taffendale.
"Well, if he'd all that money on him," she said. "He might have been followed, and—"
"Who knew that he'd all that money on him?" Taffendale retorted, with an impatient laugh. "No—he's gone. He'd planned it out. The thing is—where has he gone?"
Rhoda shook her head. She glanced around her and lowered her voice.
"That's not it, Mark," she said. "The real question is—why has he gone? He's—heard something."
Taffendale made a sound and a movement indicative of impatience and vexation.
"Supposing he had heard something, why should that make him go?" he exclaimed. "No, I tell you, he's planned it. I always considered him a deep and a sly customer, for all his softness. He's planned it all, and he's got a nice start and money in his pocket. And if he was deep enough to do that, he'll be deep enough to disappear altogether."
Rhoda darted a swift look at him.
"You think that?" she said quietly.
"If you're asking me what I think," answered Taffendale, "I'll tell you straight out, my girl—I think Perris has been sharp enough to get together all the money he could, and that he's probably off to Canada or New Zealand or—somewhere. That's what I think."
Again Rhoda gave him a swift glance.
"And—me?" she said.
Taffendale's face flushed, and he thrust his hands in his pockets and began to pace the room.
"Just so!" he said. "And—me. And—a good many other folks. It's no use trying to make light of it There's going to be trouble, Rhoda. Or, rather, not going to be. It's here. And—"
Just then a man passed the window, stumping heavily over the cobbles. The sharp rap of a stick sounded on the door, which Taffendale had closed when the young labourer went out. As Taffendale stood near the door, he opened it, and found himself confronting a man whom he knew as a drover employed by one of the market-town butchers. The man grinned.
"Day, Mestur Taffendale, sir," he said, lifting his stick to his cap. "Anybody at home here, sir?"
Taffendale made no answer. He beckoned Rhoda to the door, and the man again touched his cap.
"Day, mum," he said. "I come for them two bullocks 'at Mestur Perris selled to our gaffer, yesterday. Here's t' order for 'livery."
Rhoda took the greasy scrap of paper, and stared at Perris's handwriting as if she scarcely comprehended its meaning.
"He said, did Mestur Perris, 'at he mightn't be at home this afternoon," continued the drover, "so I were to show that bit o' writin' to eyther you or t' lad, mum. I know t' bullocks when I see 'em, mum."
Rhoda glanced at Taffendale. Taffendale nodded. "Very well," she said to the man. "You'll find them in the fold."
Taffendale followed the drover down the yard. "How much did your master give Mr. Perris apiece for these bullocks, Tom?" he asked with affected carelessness. "I've got a few to sell if prices are decent."
"He gev' sixteen-ten for one, and fifteen for t'other, sir," answered the drover. Then he laughed softly. "But yeer stock's a bit diff'rent fro' what this is, Mestur Taffendale," he said, slyly. "This is nobbut poor stuff, sir."
Taffendale went back to the house, where Rhoda still stood staring about her as if she neither saw nor understood anything.
"That's another thirty pounds he's got with him," he said, with a harsh laugh. "So he's gone off with nearly two hundred capital. And—and I don't see what's to stop him."
"He found something out," said Rhoda. "He found something out. I'm sure that was it. He found something out!"
Taffendale