The Rattle of the Looms

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 962, 12 March 1917, Page 3

The Rattle of the Looms

"IN THE KING'S NAME." CHAPTER Nil [.— (Continued.) Bessie', rolling back her sleeves as though about, to tackle a difficult piece of work, demanded to see Mr Farnboiough, and was promptly denied. "Then show tne someone I can talk to," she said firmly. "Not thee, lad—bobbies, common bobbies, aren't no good to me." She was shown into the presence of the inspector, who was much harassed by the enormous amount of work thrown •on his shoulders. "Well, my girl, what is it?" "It's this, Mr Gillingford. ■ They tell mc you've took Mestcr Famborough. I've come to tell you 1 met him up at Merstham Boyd up above Kail he I'hid, last night —he couldn't have done it." Ben Frodsham stood expectantly, a fine glow of happiness $n his face. It was all satisfactorily settled, lie told himself, Bessie's word would do it. The inspector hemmed and hawed, poising a pen above a sheet of official paper. " \ ou want to be called as a witness, then? A witness at the inquest?" The girl's face showed ignorance.

"What does n witness have to do?" ••'Oh, take an oath, anil then say what slr.t saw, anything that bears on the case. She'll probably be cross-cxam-ineil, sure to be, in fact. The girl felt her knees tremble beneath her —this ordeal assumed terrifying proportions What, it' some inquisitive lawyer—her knowledge of legal matters was extremely shadowy —probed into that unmentionable secret of her life and hold her up to public shame? Her father would hear the truth of her association with Brookes, the association that now stood to her for the vilest memory of her short life; and hearing, would suffer bitterly. But—Farnborov.gh had l>een good to her; he had pitied her in her sorrow, he had put her in. the way of obtaining employment. She caught her breath sharply. "Yes, I'm willing to be called as a witness," she said. And by saying this she was perhaps more heroic, than many leaders of forlorn hopes. For exposuiv meant the loss of everything still worth possessing in life—repute, her father's happiness, everything. For herself she hardly eared, she had eaten to the full of bitterness, but there were others — little Emily, her sister, would turn from her in disgust—and knowing it al! she spoke as she did. "Very well, the inquest will be tomorrow at 1(U0. That, will do." They were dismissed, and their hopes sank. To their minds it appeared that all that was necessary was they should tell their story and ensure Faruborough 's freedom forthwith.

"What if they don't believe us?" asked Frodsham, clasping the girl's shawl. "They've got to believe us, Ben, they've got to believe us. Why, Young Josh was fond o' Mester Faruborough" I've heard him say it. Ami he wouldn't hurt a fly, not. that way." Gratitude towards the foreman stirred the girl; out of her own suffering she was learning a great lesson of sympathy with others who also suffered. She had never been willingly bad, only weak, and the manager's superficial gentility and plausible manner, combined with the treachery that led him to promise marriage, had proved her undoing. But. now that the madness was over, now that. Brookes had been revealed to her in his true colours, regret and a poignant remorse assailed her soul. She must think of others am] spend herself in their service, so she told herself, her simple mind running in simple channels. Only by self-sacrifice and reasonable devotion might she win back her smirched self-respect. She led Ben Frodsham away from the grey stone building, past little knots of people who discussed the crime, until they .came out on the moorland road. It was very cold, and the bitter wind shrilled about them as they went, but they 'bent their heads to the "blast, and the untamed forces of the elements found an answer in their untamed hearts.

"We've got to save him," said Ben at last, pausing near that very spot where he had intervened in time to save Bessie's life. "Bess, I've been tryin' to think it out. It won't come clear, not right clear, but, if voii sav you saw him last neet, an' if 1 say I saw him an' all, they're bound to believe us." " Did you see him, Ben?" "No, not while ten o'clock, an' they do say th ' murder was done at half-past eijrht. But I'm main sure he didn't do il." "So am T. But it; 'ud mean tellin' a lie." "What if it did? They'd believe it if we'd both seen him, an' tliev mightn't if one of us said it." lie threw himself down on wet heat her and cold rock, and took off his cap. allowing the fierce breeze to riot in his tangled haii'. for a lone; lime they remained thus, but on the edge of dark, Ben got to his feel wit hj a. shout. "Th' wind's been speak in' to me, Bess. It alius does; it tells me what to do. ft says I've got to take my Bible oath T seed Mester Farnborough, if they axes me." Siie, too, had heard voices whispering to her in the breeze aforetime, voices that bade her refuse to listen to the words of the tempter, and she had left them unheeded. Better if she had given them ear, she thought. And there was a vein of superstition in •her, too -the old moorland beliefs that those afflicted by Cod possessed superior powers to common humanity. "Tf th' wind says so, happen you'd better do it," she said, "Come, lad, it grows late." And they went back to the town, where the gas-lamps fluttered in the storm.

The inquest attracted hj certain amount of attention; but fours of untoward demonstrations on the part of n.n audience compelled the police to keep many spectators who would otherwise have boon present from entering tlio big room where the inquiry was hold. Workers at Benson's were not admitted; but there was a considerable attendance nevertheless. The jury were conducted to view the body before the opening of tho inquiry proper; and Farnborough attended in custody.

Police-constable Brown deposed to finding the body of deceased lying at the edge of the roadway, with the back of the skull beaten in by a heavy blow. He actually stumbled over the corpse, as the night was very dark, and know-

By H. SHAW, Author of "The Love Tides," "Tiio Bondage of Hate," etc

ing the road well, he had not exposed his lantern. "Why had he not exposed his lantern?" asked the coroner. It seemed that Police-constable Brown had been zealous in the arresting of strikers, several of the disaffected ones had sworn to do him in, and the presence of a .single bull's-eye light might have drawn undesirable attention upon himself. "I left the body lying where it was, and ran to Mr Benson's house; from there I telephoned to the inspector and the doctor.'' "What time was this?" "As near as I could tell, quarter to 10. lie had discovered something—certain footprints in the mud beside the body—distinctive footprints."

The inspector was called, and deposed to finding the body in the position described by Police-constable Brown. lie also had noticed the footprints. He had taken measurements, and even a plaster cast of these prints, which were produce'!. Had he discovered anything else?" Yes, but not. at that particular nioir.ee.t. Next morning, prosecuting a careful search, he had found a stout ashplant thrown over the wall, and blood still adhered to the cudgel. Undoubtedly this was the weapon with which the deed had been accomplished. "Were your suspicions aroused by these discoveries'?" asked the coroner. "Yes, or, rather, at a little later date, when one of my men recognised the stick as being the property of the prisoner Earnborough." A sensation here, which was at once calmed. "And then?" The inspector said that people had come forward to swear that the footprints could only have been made by a pair of boots worn by Earnborough, and lifter prisoner's arrest such a pair of boots were found in his possession. On examination they tallied exactly with the casts made of the prints. This created another sensation.

The doctor was called, and made his statement concisely, although at times he was the victim of emotion. He had been deceased's personal medical attendant for many years, and the shock of his lamentable death was trying. The coroner expressed sympathy. The doctor deposed to being summoned to examine the body, and described the nature of the wound. The skull had been broken in; considerable force must have been employed. Such a weapon as flic ash-plant produced would cause the wound. Death had been due to a. fractured skull and concussion. According to his firm belief Mr Joshua Benson had been dead for over an hour when found. Mr Josiah Benson was then called, and in a voice broken by emotion told of his last meeting with his brother. Joshua had been to Bridge House to talk over the question of the strike and the need for further precautions with regard to the defence of the mill; he had left his brother's place at 8 o'clock, avowing his intention to walk home. That was the last, he had seen of him. The utmost good friendship existed between himself and his brother, and lie was utterly at a loss to understand any reason for his death.

"If it had been me, now," he said, "there might have been some cause. But Joshua wa3 well liked, a hannlesss man.'' "Were you awnre of any ill-feeling between the prisoner and deceased?" No, he was not, Joshua had always had a liking for Farnborough, thought too much about him, some folks said. They had spared Muriel the ordeal of attending the inquest, because what evidence she could give hardly mattered; and, too, she was suffering considerably from shock attendant on the recent attack on Bridge House. But with the calling of other witnesses the case against Farnborough appeared to grow brighter. When asked if he desired to make a statement, he replied in the affirmative, and in a clear voice said: "Such a charge as this is totally unfounded. I had the very greatest respect for Mr Joshua Benson"; he had shown me many kindnesses; He consulted me on frequent occasions concerning business matters, and helped me materially in my work. I would as soon have thought of cutting my own throat as of injuring or even attempting to injure him."

"Will you describe your movements on the night of the crime?" "At half past seven o'clock I left the house where I live, and walked through the town towards Gambling Road. I passed Mr Benson's house somewhere about eight o'clock, I should say.'' "Then you admit that you were in (lie vicinity of the tragedy within half-au-hour of its actually taking place*," "T wan certainly in that quarter — but it was at eiydit o'clock; I heard St. Giles' Church clock strike the hour." "And then?" Farnborough became a little confused, but recovered himself. "I went to Lai the End, where I intended to see Jim Dickenson-'' "What was your purpose in seeing Dickenson?'' Farnborough again flushed a little, "lie had kept the secret, of his patent shuttle well and had hoped to keep it constantly until its acceptance as a workable thing was an acknowledged fact. "He was making some experiments for me; he is an engineer." "Yes. Ami you saw Dickenson?" "No, he was out, the house was in darkness. 1 knocked at the door several times, but there was no response, and so I came away."

"''Walking by way of Gambling Road, of course'?" "No; 1 took the high road over the hill-top." The coroner looked dubious and said he understod the high road was a very roundabout way of gaining the town "I wanted fresh air; I had spent a harassing day. I was disappointed also, in not seeing Dickenson." " Ves, f see. Now, we know that MiBenson left his brother's house at eight o'clock; he could not have reached the place where he was murdered before half-past eight. You swear on oath that you did not enter Gambling Road, after eight' o'clock?" "Yes, sir." "Uin, yes. This ash-plant, do you recognise it?" He laid the stick before Farnborough. (To bo continued.)