EZEKIEL ASHWORTH, HERBALIST

"Yes, Mary, what is it?"

"It may be I have been foolish, father, but for days I have been thinking about nothing except this. Being absolutely certain that Paul is innocent, I--well, you know what my suspicions were, father. But since you told me what that man Archie Fearn said, I was obliged to come to the conclusion that you were right."

The girl hesitated a second, and then went on excitedly: "I believe I've found out something."

The judge looked at his daughter questioningly, but there was no look of hope in his eyes. He could not believe that what he had failed to do she could accomplish. He had, as far as he knew, examined every possible source of evidence, and although he was still fain to believe as she believed, his reason still pointed to one dread conclusion.

"Until this morning," she went on, "I expect all my inquiries had been coloured by my belief, but when you destroyed that belief I was obliged to think on new lines. It's still a question of the knife, isn't it, father?"

"Yes," said the judge. "It's still a question of the knife. You see this is the fact, the salient fact, upon which the jury will have to fasten. Who could have become possessed of it? Paul was always careful about locking his office, and although it seems unlikely he should have done what it is believed he has done, what other explanation can be given?"

"Yes, I see," replied the girl. "But after you'd gone this morning I remembered lots of things which seemed to have no meaning before. We know now that Ned Wilson has not borne as good a character in the town as we thought."

The judge nodded.

"I heard all sorts of strange rumours," went on the girl, "to which I did not attach much importance. But when you convinced me that Paul's mother could not possibly have done it, I began to think those rumours might have some meaning. It may be the thing that I have found out has no meaning."

"What have you found out?" he asked sharply.

"This. First of all gossip a.s.sociated Ned Wilson's name with a girl in this town by the name of Emily Dodson. People say she is very good-looking."

"Yes. And what then?"

"She worked for Paul," replied the girl. "She has worked in his factory for some months. Well, this morning a thought struck me, and I've been to Paul's factory and have examined his books. And I found out this: Emily Dodson was at work on the day preceding the murder, and she has never been near the place since. Of course, that of itself may mean nothing, but the coincidence struck me. It seemed a little strange that she has never been to work since that day. I went to the house where she lived and saw her mother. I asked to be allowed to see her, but the door was closed in my face. It seems that she's been ill ever since that time, and practically nothing is known of her."

The judge was silent for a considerable time. Evidently Mary's words had given him food for thought.

"It may mean nothing, father," she went on. "But don't you see? Her name has been a.s.sociated with that of Wilson. Gossips say he has treated her badly. She is also spoken of as one of those dark, handsome, gipsy-looking girls, who is very pa.s.sionate. Now then, think. Might she not have had an opportunity of going to Paul's office? Might she not by some means have got hold of this knife?

Remember, she was one of his workpeople."

The judge shook his head. "You have very slender evidence for your a.s.sumption, Mary," he said sadly.

"Yes, but is it not strange that she never returned to work, and that she's been ill in bed ever since? From what I can gather, she's had no doctor, no one has been allowed to see her, and the night she ceased working was the night when Ned Wilson was murdered."

"Her illness is easily accounted for," said the judge. "If she were fond of Wilson, might not his death have so overwhelmed her that her health broke down? Still----"

"I have seen all these objections," urged Mary. "But don't you see: Paul didn't do it--he couldn't--his mother could not have done it, and someone did! I know that what I've been thinking seems to rest upon pure coincidence, but, father, I've thought, and thought, and thought, until I'm sure!"

"Tell me more about it," said the judge.

Mary related her experiences of the day, told in detail of her visit to the factory, described her examination of the books, and then related her conversation with Emily Dodson's mother.

"Of course, prima facie," he said presently, "you have reasons for your suspicions, but even if your suspicions are true, what can be done?

Unless we can prove that she took the knife, unless someone saw her under suspicious circ.u.mstances, we are helpless. She might have done the deed and still Paul might have to be hanged."

"But, father!" cried the girl, and there was a wail of agony in her voice.

"Oh, do not fear, my child, the thing shall be tested. Everything shall be sifted to the very bottom. No stone shall be left unturned, I can a.s.sure you of that!"

Again the judge sat for a long time thinking. Presently he started to his feet. "Mary, you're a clever girl!" he said. "And it seems to me that if Paul's life is saved, we shall owe everything to you!

But--but---- Go to bed, my child, my brain is weary now, as yours must be. Let us try and get a little sleep. To-morrow we can act."

The following morning, when the two met again, there was a new light in Judge Bolitho's eyes, a ring of determination in his voice. His step was firm, and his whole demeanour suggested an eagerness which for a long time had been absent.

"I ought to go to Manchester this morning," he said. "You see, my position is very peculiar. But I shall not go, no matter what happens!"

"You believe there's something in what I told you?" and her voice was almost hoa.r.s.e with eagerness.

"There may be something in it," was his reply. "If--if----"

"What?" asked Mary.

"Paul's fate will be decided to-day," replied the judge, and his voice trembled. "Bakewell finished last night--of course, you have read the newspapers?--and this morning Paul will speak in his own defence.

Perhaps that will take nearly the whole morning. Then Brans...o...b.. will sum up."

"And you believe----?" cried the girl.

"From what I can see of Brans...o...b..'s questions, I should say it is his opinion that Paul is guilty."

"But it will depend upon the jury!" cried the girl.

"Juries are influenced by the judge's summing-up."

"Oh, if--if----!" cried Mary.

"Yes, I see what is in your mind; but nothing can happen in time to influence the finding of the jury. You must not build upon that. But all hope is not lost yet, Mary. We will not give up until the last moment."

That morning Judge Bolitho's mode of action was not easily to be explained. He went to all sorts of strange and unthought-of places, and made many inquiries which, from the standpoint of the casual observer, were utterly irrelevant to the purpose he had in mind.

Still, he kept on his way, asking his questions, keeping his own counsel. He visited Paul's factory, asked many questions of the employees, examined the books which had so interested Mary on the previous day, went to the scene of the murder. But no one could guess from his face as to what his conclusions might have been. That he was anxious and perturbed no one could have doubted; but whether his inquiries gave him any reason for hope it was impossible to tell.

Strange as it may seem, he did not go to Brunclough Lane, but by means of many out-of-the-way inquiries he discovered the name of the doctor who attended the Dodsons in case of illness. He found out, too, that this doctor was not a fully qualified medical pract.i.tioner. Lancashire is a very Mecca for quack doctors. Long years ago, before legislation became stringent in this direction, many unqualified men earned large incomes among the factory hands. Herbalists of all sorts and men who pretended to cure diseases which baffled all the doctors were in great demand. In later years, although this practice had been considerably curtailed, a number of unqualified people managed to eke out a living.

Judge Bolitho discovered that one of these--a certain Ezekiel Ashworth, who pretended to a knowledge of herbs, and who was also one who held high place among the spiritualists of the town--had attended in a medical capacity on various occasions at 27 Brunclough Lane. He also found out that this man had, during the last few weeks, sent a good deal of medicine to Mrs. Dodson's house, and, more than all this, that he had been called in on the previous evening some two hours after Mary had been in the street.

A little after noon Judge Bolitho found his way to Ezekiel Ashworth's house. He lived in a small, narrow street in one of a row of cottages which was let to him for four and sixpence a week. Ezekiel Ashworth had in his younger days been a weaver, but his mother, who was renowned as a very wise woman, had imparted her secrets to him before she died, and he had from that time followed his mother's calling. He also claimed that the spirits told him many things which doctors were unable to find out, and thus he imposed upon the credulity of ignorant people.

Indeed, Ezekiel had quite an extensive practice, and many there were, even among those in affluent circ.u.mstances, who sought his aid.

When Judge Bolitho knocked at Ezekiel's door it was opened by the man himself. He was attired in a suit of shabby broadcloth; a greasy frock-coat hung below his knees, and his linen had evidently been a stranger to the laundry for some considerable time. His feet were encased in a pair of gaily coloured carpet slippers.

On seeing Judge Bolitho he a.s.sumed quite a professional air. "What can I do for you, my dear sir?" he said. "You don't look very well."

"No, I am far from well," replied the judge.

"Ay, I thought so. You're a stranger in these parts, I reckon?"

"I am not a Brunford man," replied the judge; "but I happened to be here, and, hearing about many of your wonderful cures, thought I would call and see you."

"Ay," replied Ezekiel. "I know a good deal more about doctorin' than half of these chaps with a lot of letters to their names; but the Government has made it very hard on us, and we can't do what we would."