"I knew!" said Mary-in-the-kitchen. "He told me!"
"God bless you!" Pippin grasped the little hand and squeezed it till Mary had to bite her lips to keep back a scream.
But now the younger Bashford, regaining the senses which had been knocked out of him, struggled up on his elbow and pointed a shaking finger at Pippin.
"Yes, he's straight!" he cried in a voice broken with passion. "Yes, he's an honest man all right, all right! Get his wheel, his innercent little scissor-grinder's wheel! Bring it in from the shed where he's kep' it handy. Nipper Crewe's wheel, well known to every burglar in the state, with the finest kit of breakin' tools made by man hid away in it! Fetch the wheel, somebody! The—— skunk has broke my leg or I'd go."
What is this? From dead white Pippin has gone vivid scarlet from brow to neck. He steps forward hastily.
"I'll bring the wheel!" he says.
"No you don't!" the giant policeman fills the doorway, seeming to expand till it is a close fit on either side. "No, nor you either!" as the elder Bashford made a motion. "You three stay where you be! Yes, sir, if you'll be so kind!" This to John Aymer, who has silently indicated his readiness to go.
No one speaks while the householder slips out. Pippin, still holding the little hand, has dropped his brave crest and stands with hanging head and downcast looks. What can it mean? Mary casts little anxious glances at him. Mrs. Aymer weeps audibly on the stairs; the Bashfords, father and son, seem to swell with anticipatory triumph; Dennis Cassidy, thoroughly puzzled, glowers at the three from under his shaggy eyebrows.
As the light rattle of the wheel was heard, Pippin started, and darted a strange look at Mary.
"I ask your pardon, Miss Mary!" he muttered. "I hadn't ought—"