Pickard, wearing his white billycock hat and accompanied by a fine
fox-terrier, lounged up with his thumbs in the armholes of his
waistcoat. Together they went a little further along.
"Now then!" said the landlord, crossing the road towards the entrance of
a narrow lane which ran between two high stone walls. "This here is
Stubbs' Lane--so called, I believe, 'cause an owd gentleman named
similar used to hev a house here 'at's been pulled down. Ye see, it runs
up fro' this high-road towards yon terrace o' houses. Folks hereabouts
calls that terrace t' World's End, 'cause they're t' last houses afore
ye get on to t' open moorlands. Now, that night 'at Parrawhite wor
aimin' to meet Pratt, it wor i' this very lane. Pratt, when he left t'
tram-car, t' other side o' my place, 'ud come up t' road, and up this
lane. And it wor at t' top o' t' lane 'at Bill Thomson see'd Pratt and
Parrawhite cross into what Bill called t' owd quarry ground."
"Can we go into that?" asked Byner.
"Nowt easier!" said Pickard. "It's a sort of open space where t' childer
goes and plays about: they hev'n't worked no stone theer for many a long
year--all t' stone's exhausted, like."
He led Byner along the lane to its further end, pointed out the place
where Thomson said he had seen Pratt and Parrawhite, and indicated the
terrace of houses in which Pratt lived.
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