Clifford hesitated.
“I have an idea,” he said, “and I want you to listen quietly, since if it is correct, it takes away all suspicion of any one having acted dishonestly. Is there in your house a—a—woman who walks in her sleep?”
“Not into folks’ bedrooms to steal their money, anyhow,” answered Claris, surlily. “And I’ve never heard of no sort of sleep-walkin’ by either of them.”
“Either of the servants, you mean?” said Clifford with a slight emphasis.
“THIS MAN, THIS ‘GENTLEMAN,’ SAYS YOU’RE A THIEF, MY GIRL.”—See Page [43].
“Yes, of course. Why, man alive! You wouldn’t sure dare to say as my niece, my lovely Nell, was a thief to take your dirty money!” shouted the landlord, with sudden fury, all the more fierce that, as Clifford could see, he had heard whispers of the same sort before. “Here, Nell, Nell! Where are you?”
And, not heeding Clifford’s angry protests, Claris rushed into the house, and almost into the arms of his niece, who, apparently suspecting nothing, came running quickly in from the garden at the sound of her name.
“What is it, uncle?”
She still wore her hat, but it was pushed back; and her pink and white face, glowing with the wholesome sting of the fresh morning air, smiled at the hot and agitated faces of the two men.