"Well," said I, after a pause of some length, in which the old man seemed to be pondering whether he would go on with his story or not, looking bewildered, as if there was something he wished to tell me about, but did not quite dare to, or was ashamed to tell. "Well, tell me the whole story. How many persons are there in your family?"
"My wife and myself, three unmarried daughters; two married ones spend much time there too; and two of my sons, unmarried. They are in business; but I like to have my family about me—"
"Are these all?"
"Yes, except the servants. I have four maid-servants in the house, besides my coachman and butler."
"Do you suspect none of these servants?"
"No; I've tested them in every way. They have all, with the exception of one girl, been with me for from ten to twenty-five years. I called the women maid-servants; two of them are widows, one has been a widow for twenty years, and has lived with us for all that time, and the butler has been with us longer. I would trust any of them as soon as I would my own children."
"Of course, then, you suspect no one in your house?"
"No, no; there's nobody there to do these things. We've all watched and watched, I tell you, and the servants are as much interested as we to know who is the guilty actor, for they have lost many things as well as the rest of us."
"You speak of one girl who has not been there so long as the rest. How long has she been with you?"
"About three years."