The policeman came next morning: a tall man, with a grave face, almost as sparing of his words as mother. He listened to the whole story from father, and then he went upstairs to see my room, paying particular attention to the way of getting there. He looked into the drawer where I had always kept the watch, and made mother turn everything out that was in it; and then he examined the other drawers, as if to make sure that I hadn't slipped it in elsewhere by mistake. He put a question now and then to mother by the way, and I waited in a fright, knowing my turn must come soon, as indeed it did.
"Quite sure you always kept the watch and chain in this drawer?" says he at last, looking at me.
"Yes," I said, under my breath.
"Speak out, Kitty. Don't be afraid," says father.
"And the drawer wasn't locked?" says the policeman.
"No."
"Never?"
"No," I said.
"Anybody except yourselves know where the watch was kept?"
"No."