This much is sure—that among the knot of loungers at the church-gate such sentences as the following passed from mouth to mouth—
"Es et true, do'ee think?"
"Certain—carr'ge an' pair from Five Lanes las' night—not a word said."
"My!"
"Ef so, this town's been purtily robbed."
"That's a true word."
Then this happened—
The Trojan in broadcloth heard, as he passed, the words of the Trojan in corduroy; inquired, shook his head, and walked on; doubted; turned back to hear more; consulted his wife; and decided to go and see.
The consequence was that at ten minutes to eleven the stream of church-goers descending along the Parade was met by another stream rolling towards "The Bower" and every moment gathering volume. As there was no place of worship in this direction, a conference followed the confluence. The churchgoers turned, joined the larger stream, and the whole flood poured uphill.
Outside "The Bower" they halted for a moment. One tradesman, a furniture dealer, bolder than the rest, advanced to the front-door and knocked.