“Yes--yes and no,” mused the magistrate. “Ah, this Law!--You make a full confession of a thing, the Law finds it insufficient; you deny, and the Law murmurs ‘Indeed?’ and presently takes you by the heels. I have long letters sometimes, full of words, and all they say is this ‘Indeed?’--And so much for our recent conversation, James.” This time Matthew Moon struck bluntly in. “Do ye mean, i’ plain words, that they’re setting ye aside?” he said; and at that moment an accident befell the magistrate’s glass of wine. It overturned at his elbow, and Emmason rose hastily for a napkin. He dabbed up the spilt liquid, and then crossed to the window, putting his hand against the crack of the shutter. “I think the wind is north, for this room is uncommonly draughty,” he muttered. “You will pardon me, I’m sure, but I am just recovering from an ear-ache----” He took some morsels of cotton-wool from his pocket and stuffed them into his ears. The merchant made a little exclamation of contempt, and turned to Eastwood. “Is that it, James?” he asked, while the magistrate inspected the cornice of the room. “Nay, if ye will come in like that----” “Does he mean Cope’s trafficking wi’ Ford magistrates and leaving ours alone?” “Why won’t ye leave John to me?” “No need; it’s plain enough. We’ve been looking west instead o’ east, that’s all.” (The magistrate nodded, and immediately seemed to doze, nodding again twice or thrice.) “There’s the Gazette at the clogger’s, with its pigeons and creeping about and all that, that’s all west; and east, there’s them I warned ye o’ before, that’ll ha’ nothing to do with us, and Ford, and a Ford magistrate’s clerk i’ Horwick.--His legs don’t amount to much, but he can get letters, and sit in the ‘Pipes’ all ears, and set fools sniggering with his ‘La, Mr. Monjoy!’” “Well, let me get what I can out o’ John.” “Ay, let’s have the clever work.” Eastwood rose, set his hand for a moment to the crack of the door, and returned to Emmason. “Ye’re wrong, John; it’s from the door, not the window. Come and sit between us,” he said. The magistrate took the wool from his ears and changed his place, and while the others rested their elbows on the table he leaned back between them. Eastwood began the farce slowly. “It’s come over me this bit back, John,” he said deliberatively, “that there’s a deal o’ queer work goes on i’ Horwick that folk knows little about.” “Ay?” murmured the magistrate. “And in what sort?” “Well, say there’s poaching. A man i’ your position doesn’t hear tell of it, but it’s spoken of openly among us. Magistrates can’t be everywhere.” “No, no; we occupy a difficult position,” Emmason assented; but the slow shake of his head said a good deal more. It said (for instance) that, if in truth he were officially discredited, zeal against poachers would hardly reinstate him.