Jacky hesitates, turns slowly, and then throws a glance at her.
‘Susan, did you see that man in the Crosby pew?’
Susan’s nerves being a little overwrought, she almost jumps at this.
‘Yes, yes,’ says she in a hurried way.
‘He was very like the thief, wasn’t he?’ says Jacky anxiously. Susan colours hotly.
‘Nonsense, Jacky’—with a very poor attempt at scorn. ‘That gentleman in Mr. Crosby’s pew was, I think, Mr. Crosby himself, or, at all events, some friend of his.’
‘Well, the thief was the image of him,’ says Jacky slowly. That’s the worst of Jacky, he is always so abominably slow. ‘I looked at him, and I said to myself, “That’s Susan’s thief,” and,’ with awful obstinacy, ‘I think it was, too.’
‘No, no, no!’ says Susan. ‘It was Mr. Crosby, I tell you. I saw Lady Millbank nod and smile at him.’
Jacky considers.
‘Very well,’ says he, in a thoroughly unconvinced tone. He moves away a bit and then looks back. ‘If that is true,’ says he, ‘Mr. Crosby looks like a thief.’