The way the Squire lashed up Bob and Blister when driving home—for, liking Sam hitherto, he was just as much put out as old Jacobson—and the duet they kept together in abuse of his misdeeds, was edifying to hear. Tod laughed; I did not. The gig was given over this return journey to the two grooms.
“I do not believe Sam took the box, sir,” I said to old Jacobson, interrupting a fiery oration.
He turned round to stare at me. “What do you say, Johnny Ludlow? You do not believe he took the box?”
“Well, to me it seems quite plain that he did not take it. I’ve hardly ever felt more sure of anything.”
“Plain!” struck in the Squire. “How is it plain, Johnny? What grounds do you go upon?”
“I judge by his looks and his tones, sir, when denying it. They are to be trusted.”
They did not know whether to laugh or scoff at me. It was Johnny’s way, said the Squire; always fancying he could read the riddles in a man’s face and voice. But they’d have thrown up their two best market-going hats with glee to be able to think it true.
V.
Samson Reginald Dene was relieved of the charge, as it was declared “not proven;” all the same, Samson Reginald Dene was ruined. Worcester said so. During the following week, which was Passion Week, its citizens talked more of him than of their prayers.