To her great relief, the man in custody was unknown to her. James Smithson, she said, was taller, and had a longer face, and she had not seen him whom she had locked into the dressing-room. However, she identified a gold and turquoise letter-weight; and the setting of a seal, whence the stone with the crest had been extracted, both of which had been found in the man’s pocket, together with some pawnbroker’s tickets, which represented a buhl-clock and other articles from Beauchamp. She was made to give an account of the robbery. Honor had never felt prouder of any of her favourites than of her, while listening to the modest, simple, but clear and circumstantial recital, and watching how much struck the country gentlemen
were by the girl who had been of late everywhere pitied or censured.
The statement over, she was desired to answer a few questions from Captain Morden, the chief of the constabulary force, who had come from the county town to investigate the affair. Taking her aside, he minutely examined her on the appearance of some of the articles mentioned in the inventory, on the form of the shadow of the horse and cart, on the thieves themselves, and chiefly on Smithson, and how she could be so secure of the identity of the robber in the pea-jacket with the footman in powder and livery.
‘I can hardly tell,’ said Phœbe; ‘but I have no doubt in my own mind.’
‘Was he like this?’ asked Captain Morden, showing her a photograph.
‘Certainly not.’
‘Nor this?’
‘No.’
‘Nor this?’
‘Yes, that is Smithson in plain clothes.’