Robinson stooped, removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well.

Then he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his jaws apart in order to emit speech.
"I've a sort of idee, sir," he said slowly, "that Robinson saw Doris Martin on the lawn with 'ee last night." Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
"Miss Martin's name must be kept out of this matter," he growled.
But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
"All very well a-sayin' that, sir, but a-doin' of it is a bird of another color," argued Bates firmly.
"How did you know that Miss Martin was here ?" "Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know everythink about other folk's business?
Sometimes we know more'n they knows themselves.

You've not walked a yard wi' Doris that the women's tittle-tattle hasn't made it into a mile." No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth.

For a few seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearly blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue.

Luckily, since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to say sarcastically: "Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you can assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strange woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river." "Me an' my missis couldn't help seein' you an' Doris a-lookin' at the stars through a spyglass when us were goin' to bed," persisted Bates.