“Then I understand that you give your consent.”
“I do.”
“Very well. Then allow me to call in a party not interested, who will attend to that duty.”
Colonel Ross went to the outer door, and, opening it, called:
“Constable, you are wanted!”
At this summons a tall, stout man—Mr. Rogers, the village constable—came forward, as it seemed, rather reluctantly.
“Constable,” said Colonel Ross, “Mrs. Gilbert has given her consent to have the house searched for the bonds which were abstracted from my trunk last evening.”
“Mr. Rogers,” said Mrs. Gilbert, who knew the constable well, “Colonel Ross has made a cruel and unwarranted charge against Harry. I hope you don’t believe he is a thief.”
“I don’t,” said the constable, bluntly. “I’ve known your boy ever since he was a baby, and I never knew him to do a mean thing.”
“Constable,” said Colonel Ross, angrily, “it does not become you to screen the guilty or make excuses for him.”