"I—I dunnot know."
"If you don't tell me," said Haworth, through his clenched teeth, "it'll be worse for you. It was you I let the truth slip to; you were the first chap that heard it, and you were the first chap that started the row and egged it on."
"I did na egg it on," protested Mr. Briarley. "It did na need no eggin' on. They pounced on it like cats on a bird. I did na mean to tell 'em owt about it. I'm a dom'd foo'. I'm th' dom'dest foo' fro here to Dillup."
"Aye," said Haworth, sardonically, "that's like enow. Who was the chap that threw the stone?"
He returned to the charge so swiftly and with such fell determination that Mr. Briarley began fairly to whimper.
"I dare na tell," he said. "They'd mak' quick work o' me if they fun me out."
"Who was it?" persisted Haworth. "They'll make quicker work of you at the 'Old Bailey,' if you don't."
Mr. Briarley turned his disreputable, battered cap round and round in his nervous hands. He was mortally afraid of Haworth.
"A man's getten to think o' his family," he argued. "If he dunnot think o' hissen, he raun think o' his family. I've getten a mortal big un—twelve on 'em an' Sararann, as ud be left on th' world if owt wur to happen twelve on 'em as ud be left wi'out no one to stand by 'em an' pervide fur 'em. Theer's nowt a fam'ly misses so mich as th' head. The head should na run no risks. It's th' head's duty to tak' care o' hissen an' keep o' th' safe soide."
"Who threw the stone?" said Haworth.
Mr. Briarley gave him one cowed glance and broke down.
