Mr. Harris approached him and said, in a low tone:
"Bethel, restrain yourself. Little Effie Beale has been stolen from her grave, and these men have turned out to search for the body."
"Stolen from her grave!" the doctor's hand fell to his side and the anger died out of his eyes, and he seemed to comprehend the situation in a moment. "And they accuse me—of course."
The last words were touched with a shade of irony. Then he strode in among the searchers.
"My friends," he said, in a tone of lofty contempt, "so you have accused me of grave robbing. Very well; go on with your search, and when it is over, and you find that you have brought a false charge against me, go home, with the assurance that every man of you shall be made to answer for this uncalled-for outlawry."
The raiders who had gathered together to listen to this speech, fell back just a little, in momentary consternation. He had put the matter before them in a new light, and each man felt himself for the moment responsible for his own acts. But the voice of Tom Briggs rallied them.
"He's bluffin' us!" cried this worthy. "He's tryin' to make us drop the hunt. Boys, we're gittin' hot. Let's go for the barn and garden."
And he turned away, followed by the more reckless ones.
Without paying the slightest heed to them or their movements, Dr. Bethel turned again to Mr. Harris and asked when the body was disinterred.