"Keep your 'ead, John," said Saunders, putting out a calming hand. "Let's get to the bottom o' this, quiet an' reg'lar. An' yer didn't tell any one 'ow much yer 'ad?"
"Nobbut Eliza—nobbut Eliza!" said the old man again.
"Yer didn't tell me, I know," said Saunders, blandly.
John seemed to shrink together under the smith's glance. If only he had not been a jealous fool, and had left it with Saunders.
Saunders, however, refrained for the present from drawing his self-evident moral. He sat twirling his cap between his knees, and his shrewd eye travelled round the kitchen, coming back finally to Bessie, who was washing and drying diligently. As he watched her cool movements Saunders felt the presence of an enemy worthy of his steel, and his emulation rose.
"I understan', Mrs. Costrell," he said, speaking with great civility, "as the cupboard where John put his money is a cupboard hon the stairs? Not in hany room, but hon the stairs? Yer'll kindly correck me if I say anythin' wrong."
Bessie nodded.
"Aye—top o' the stairs—right-'and side," groaned John.
"An' John locked it hisself, an' tuk the key?" Saunders proceeded.
John plucked at his neck again, and, dumbly, held out the key.