"'An' remember,' says Mr. West to me again, 'as you don't know a thing. They'll find the money in the coal 'ole, so don't you try to stop 'em.'
"An' then Mr. West, 'e kissed me same as usual, an' 'e blowed out the light. An' 'e went away."
* * * * *
"I suppose that the police turned up all right?" suggested Dr. Brink, when he had duly considered this simple story.
"The perlice," responded the woman, who had talked more than was good for her, and now looked paler, if possible, than before—"the perlice was very rude an' rough to me. They found the money in the coal cupboard, an' they took it away. But that didn't satisfy them. It on'y seemed to aggerivate them. An' night after night they come round 'ere, an' they was very rough to me. But they ain't got 'old o' Mr. West.
"'E's bin gone a year now, all but five weeks. An' they ain't caught 'im, an' they never will. I believe it would please that daughter o' mine—the wicked, vain, unfeelin' thing—if they was to catch 'm.
"Mr. West, 'e 'aven't wrote me, nor I don't suppose 'e will. Mr. West is a careful sort. I did send round the other day to a place where I thought there might be noos o' 'im; but there wasn't no noos o' 'im.
"Not that I worry meself about 'im, if you understand. Mr. West would be all right, wherever it was. 'E's the sort that kin take care o' 'isself, 'e is. It's the boy—young Bert—I'm thinkin' of. Mr. West would be very cut up, 'e would, to think as Bert should come to any 'arm."
This reference to the nice paternal feeling of Mr. West affected us both strangely.
"But," continued Mrs. West, "I'm leavin' 'im the 'ome, at all events. Bert can't come to no pertickler 'arm so long's 'e's got a home.