James Beeman showed a fine set of teeth in a grin that seemed to stretch completely across his homely face.
"I'm t' chap 'at were spoken of as asking about t' graves o' t' Netherfield family," he answered. "You know—on't' roadside one night, off a fellow 'at I chanced to meet wi' outside Lesbury. That's who I am!"
The inspector turned to Miss Raven and myself with a look which meant more than he could express in words.
"Talk about coincidence!" he whispered. "This is the very man we'd just mentioned. Come back to my office and hear what he's got to tell. Follow me," he continued, beckoning the caller. "I'm much obliged to you for coming. Now," he continued, when all four of us were within his room. "What can you tell me about that? What do you know about the grave of the Netherfields?"
Beeman laughed, shaking his round head. Now that his old hat was removed, the fiery hue of his poll was almost alarming in its crudeness of hue.
"Nowt," he said. "Nowt at all! I'll tell you all about it—that's what I've comed here for, hearing as you were wondering who I was and what had come o' me. I come up here—yes, it were on't' sixth o' March—to see about some sheep stock for our maister, Mr. Dimbleby, and I put up for t' first night at a temp'rance i' Alnwick yonder. But of course, temp'rances is all right for sleeping and braikfasting, but nowt for owt else, so when I'd tea'd there, I went down't' street for a comfortable public, where I could smoke my pipe and have a glass or two.