"Well, Mrs. Costrell," said Saunders, settling himself comfortably, "you'll be free to confess, won't yer, this is an oogly business—a very oogly business? Now, will yer let us ask yer a question or two?"
"I dessay," said Bessie, polishing her cup.
"Well, then—to begin reg'lar, Mrs. Costrell—yo' agree, don't yer, as
Muster Bolderfield put his money in your upstairs cupboard?"
"I agree as he put his box there"—said Bessie, sharply.
John broke into inarticulate and abusive clamour. Bessie turned upon him.
"'Ow did any of us know what yer'd got in your box? Did yer ever show it to me, or Mary Anne there, or any livin' soul in Clinton? Did yer?"
She waited, hawk-like, for the answer.
"Did yer, John?" repeated Saunders, judicially.
John groaned, rocking himself to and fro.
"Noa. I niver did—I niver did," he said. "Nobbut to Eliza—an' she's gone—she's gone!"