“It was my father’s money, then—­not Wilson’s?” said Ralph.

“It was as I say,” Sim answered, as though hurt by the implication.

Ralph put his hand on Sim’s shoulder.  Self-condemned, this poor man’s conscience was already a whirlpool that drew everything to itself.

“Tell me, Sim—­that is, if you can—­tell me how you came to suspect Wilson of these dealings.”

As he said this Ralph tapped with his fingers the warrant which Sim had returned to him.

“By finding that James Wilson was not his name.”

“So you found that, did you; how?”

“It was Mother Garth’s doings, not mine,” said Sim.

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing; that is, nothing about Wilson going by a false name.  No; I found that out for myself, though it was all through her that I found it.”

“You knew it all that bad night in Martinmas, did you not?”

“That’s true enough, Ralph.  The old woman, she came one night and broke open Wilson’s trunk, and carried off some papers—­leastways one paper.”

“You don’t know what it was?”

“No.  It was in one of Wilson’s bouts away at—­at Gaskarth, so he said.  Rotha was at the Moss:  she hadn’t come home for the night.  I had worked till the darknin’, and my eyes were heavy, they were, and then I had gone into the lanes.  The night came on fast, and when I turned back I heard men singing and laughing as they came along towards me.”

“Some topers from the Red Lion, that was all?”

“Yes, that was all.  I jumped the dike and crossed the fields instead of taking the road.  As I came by Fornside I saw that there was a light in the little room looking to the back.  It was Wilson’s room; he would have no other.  I thought he had got back, and I crept up—­I don’t know why—­I crept up to the window and looked in.  It was not Wilson who was there.  It was Mrs. Garth.  She had the old man’s trunk open, and was rummaging among some papers at the bottom of it.”

“Did you go in to her?”

“I was afeart of the woman, Ralph; but I did go in, dotherin’ and stammerin’.”

“What did she say?”

“She was looking close at a paper as I came upon her.  She started a little, but when she saw who it was she bashed down the lid of the trunk and brushed past me, with the paper in her hand.  ’You can tell him, if you like, that I have been here.’  That was all she said, and before I had turned about she had gone, she had.  What was that paper, Ralph; do you know?”

“Perhaps time will tell, perhaps not.”

“There was something afoot atween those two; what was it?”

“Can’t you guess?  You discovered his name.”

“Wilson Garth, that was it.  That was the name I found on his papers.  Yes, I opened the trunk and looked at them when the woman had gone; yes, I did that.”

“You remember how she came to these parts?  That was before my time of remembrance, but not before yours, Sim.”