"I've been a good bit over the Hollow, miss," answered Creasy. "But it's a stiff job seeking anything here. There's n.o.body knows what a wilderness this Hollow is until they begin exploring it.

Holes--corners--nooks--crannies--bracken and bushes--it is a wilderness, and that's a fact! I'd engage to hide myself safely in this square mile for many a week, against a hundred seekers. It wouldn't a bit surprise me, you know, if it comes out in the end that Mr. Horbury, after all, did fall down one of these old shafts. I couldn't believe it possible at first, knowing that he knew every in and out of the place, but I'm beginning to think he may have done. There's only one thing against that theory."

"What?" asked Betty.

"Where's the other gentleman?" answered the tinker. "If they came together on to this waste, one couldn't fall down a shaft without the other knowing it, eh? And it's scarcely likely they'd both fall down."

Neale glanced at Betty and shook his head.

"There you are, you see!" he muttered. "They all hang to the notion that Hollis did meet Horbury! Mr. Horbury may have been alone, after all, you know," he went on, turning to Creasy. "There's no proof that the other gentleman was with him."

"Aye, well--I'm going on what these paper accounts say," answered Creasy. "They all take it for granted that those two were together.

Well, about these old shaftings, mister--I did notice something very early this morning that I thought might be looked into."

"What is it?" asked Neale. "Don't let's lose any chance of finding anything out, however small it may be."

The tinker finished mending a kettle and set it aside amongst other renovated articles. He lifted the pan of solder off the fire, set it aside, too, and got up.

"Come this way, then," he said. "I was going in to Scarnham this noon to tell Mr Polke about it, but as long as you're here----"

He led the way through the thick gorse and heather until he came to a narrow track which wound across the moor in the direction of the town.

There he paused, pointing towards Ellersdeane on the one hand, towards Scarnham on the other.

"You see this track, mister?" he said. "You'll notice that it goes to Ellersdeane village that way, and to Scarnham this. Of course, you can't see it all the way in either direction, but you can take my word for it--it does. It comes out at Ellersdeane by the duck-pond, at Scarnham by the bridge at the foot of Cornmarket. People who know it would follow it if they wanted a short cut across the moor from the town to the village--or the opposite, as you might say. Now then, look here--a bit this way."

He preceded them along the narrow track until, on an open s.p.a.ce in the moorland, they came to one of the old lead-mine shafts, the mouth of which had been fenced in by a roughly built wall of stone gathered from its immediate surroundings. In this wall, extending from its parapet to the ground, was a wide gap: the stones which had been displaced to make it had disappeared into the cavernous opening.

"Now then!" said the tinker, turning on his companions with the inquiring look of a man who advances a theory which may or may not be accepted as reasonable, "you see that? What I'd like to know is--is that a recently made gap? It's difficult to tell. If this bit of a stone fence had been built with mortar, one could have told. But it's never had mortar or lime in it!--it's just rough masonry, as you see--stones picked up off the moor, like all these fences round the old shafts.

But--there's the gap right enough! Do you know what I'm thinking?"

"No!" murmured Betty, with a glance of fear and doubt at the black vista which she saw through the gap. "But--don't be afraid to speak."

"I'm thinking this," continued the tinker: "Supposing a man was following this track from Ellersdeane to Scarnham, or t'other way about, as it might be--supposing he was curious to look down one of these old shafts--supposing he looked down this one, which stands, as you see, not two yards off the very track he was following--supposing he leaned his weight on this rotten bit of fencing--supposing it gave way? What?"

Neale, who had been listening intently, made a movement as if to lay his hand on the grey stones. Betty seized him impulsively.

"Don't, Wallie!" she exclaimed. "That frightens me!"

Creasy lifted his foot and pressed it against the stones at one edge of the gap. Before even that slight pressure three or four blocks gave way and dropped inward--the sound of their fall came dully from the depths beneath.

"You see," said the tinker, "it's possible. It might be. And--as you can tell from the time it takes a stone to drop--it's a long way down there.

They're very deep, these old mines."

Neale turned from the broken wall and looked narrowly at the ground about it.

"I don't see any signs of anybody being about here recently," he remarked. "There are no footmarks."

"There couldn't be, mister," said Creasy. "You could march a regiment of soldiers over this moorland gra.s.s for many an hour, and there'd be no footprints on it when they'd gone--it's that wiry and strong. No!--if half a dozen men had been standing about here when one fell in--or if two or three men had come here to throw another man in," he added significantly, "there'd be no footmarks. Try it--you can't grind an iron-shod heel like mine into this turf."

"It's all very horrible!" said Betty, still staring at the black gap with its suggestions of subterranean horror. "If one only knew----"

The tinker turned and looked at the two young people as if he were estimating their strength.

"What are you wondering about?" asked Neale.

Creasy smiled as he glanced again at Betty.

"Well," he replied, "you're a pretty strong young fellow, mister, I take it, and the young lady looks as if she'd got a bit of good muscle about her. If you two could manage one end of a rope, I'd go down into that shaft at the other end--a bit of the way, at any rate. And then--I'd let down a lantern and see if there's aught to be seen."

Betty turned anxiously to Neale, and Neale looked the tinker over with appraising eyes.

"I could pull you up myself," he answered. "You're no great weight. And haven't those shafts got props and stays down the side?"

"Aye, but they'll be thoroughly rotten by this," said Creasy. "Well, we'll try it. Come to my cart--I've plenty of stuff there."

"You're sure there's no danger?" asked Betty. "Don't imperil yourself!"

"No danger, so long as you two'll stick to this end of the rope," said Creasy. "I shan't go too far down."

The tilted cart proved to contain all sorts of useful things: they presently returned to the shaft with two coils of stout rope, a crowbar, a lantern attached to a length of strong cord, and a great sledge-hammer, with which the tinker drove the crowbar firmly into the ground some ten or twelve feet from the edge of the gap. He made one end of the first rope fast to this; the other end he securely knotted about his waist; one end of the second rope he looped under his armpits, and handed the other to Neale; then, lighting his lantern, he prepared to descend, having first explained the management of the ropes to his a.s.sistants.

"All you've got to do," he said rea.s.suringly to Betty, "is to hold on to this second rope and let me down, gradual-like. When I say 'Pull,' draw up--I'll help, hand over hand, up this first rope. Simple enough!--and I shan't go too far."

Nevertheless, he exhausted the full length of both ropes, and it seemed a long time before they heard anything of him. Betty, frightened of what she might hear, fearful lest Neale should go too near the edge of the shaft, began to get nervous at the delay, and it was with a great sense of relief that she at last heard the signal.

The tinker came hand over hand up the stationary rope, helped by the second one: his face, appearing over the edge of the gap, was grave and at first inscrutable. He shook himself when he stepped above ground, as if he wanted to shake off an impression: then he turned and spoke in a whisper.

"It's as I thought it might be!" he said. "There's a dead man down there!"

CHAPTER XVII

ACCIDENT OR MURDER?

Betty checked the cry of horror which instinctively started to her lips, and turned to Neale with a look which he was quick to interpret. He moved nearer to the tinker, who was unwinding the rope from his waist.

"You couldn't tell--what man?" he asked, in low tones.

Creasy shook his head with a look of dislike for what he had seen by the light of his lantern.

"No!" he answered. "'Twasn't possible, mister. But--a man there is! And dead, naturally. And--a long way it is, too, down to the bottom of that place!"

"What's to be done?" asked Neale.

The tinker slowly coiled up his ropes, and laid them in order by the crowbar.