“I’ll treat you with great tenderness,” said Mr. Stockwell suavely, and a general smile relieved the tension.
“How did you obtain Miss Thwaites’s address at Hereford?”
No answer.
“Come, now. Where are your wits? Will you accuse me of badgering you, if I suggest that you stole a letter from Kitty Thwaites’s pocket?”
“I didn’t steal it. It was in a frock of hers, hangin’ in her bedroom.”
“You are most obliging. And the sovereign you sent her? Did you, by any chance, borrow it from Mrs. Atkinson?”
“Frae Mrs. Atkinson? Wheä said that?”
“Oh, I mean without her knowledge, of course. From Mrs. Atkinson’s till, I should have said.”
The chance shot went home. The miserable groom growled a denial, but no one believed him. Quite satisfied that he had destroyed the man’s credibility, Mr. Stockwell sat down.