"But I ain't," said Pickles, who had knowingly brought his mother round to make this confession. "I ain't puzzled the least bit in life, fur I know who is the real thief."
"Now, Jamie, what do you mean?"
"Mother, it were the man as went with Cinderella inter the shop; it wor he wot stole the locket and then put it inter her pocket. I don't know how he did it, nor why he did it, but I do know that did do it."
"Oh! my dear boy, in your love of mystery you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. I do not think any one would be so wicked."
"Never you mind, mother; take it on trust as there's that much wickedness in this yer world. Be thankful ye're hout o' the way o' hearing o' what's disgusting to dwell on, but this yere is a mystery as must be cleared hup. How do you s'pose, mother, as the locket did get inter Cinderella's pocket?"
"It may have slipped in as she stood by the counter."
"Oh, come, mother! that 'ud go down wid no jury as hiver walked. No, no; b'lieve me as 'tis as I say; and wot's more, 'tis my business to prove the truth o' my thoughts. There's a mystery, but James Price, alias Pickles, 'ull unravel it. You keep Cinderella fur a week yere, mother, and I'll engage as the guilty party confesses by the end o' that time."
"I will keep the little girl as long as is necessary, Pickles. But do be careful. Do not allow your vivid imagination to make you unjust to others."
"You leave it ter me, mother. You jest promise faithful to keep Cinderella fur a bit, and I'll do the rest."
"Yes, Jamie," said Mrs. Price, "I certainly will make that promise."