He held it under Isaac's staring eyes, pointing to the little scratched cross in the corner.
"'Ere's another, John—two on 'em," said Saunders, pulling out a second and a third.
John, in a passion of hope, identified them both.
"Then," said Saunders, slapping the table solemnly, "theer's nobbut one more thing to say—an' sorry I am to say it. Them coins, Isaac"—he pointed a slow finger at Bessie, whose white, fierce face moved involuntarily—"them 'arf-crowns wor paid across the bar lasst night, or the night afore, at Dawson's, by yor wife, as is now stannin' there, an' she'll deny it if she can!"
For an instant the whole group preserved their positions—the breath suspended on their lips.
Then Isaac strode up to his wife, and gripped her by the arms.
"Did yer do it?" he asked her.
He held her, looking into her eyes. Slowly she sank away from him; she would have fallen, but for a chair that stood beside her.
"Oh, yer brute!" she said, turning her head to Saunders an instant, and speaking under her breath, with a kind of sob. "Yer brute!"
Isaac walked to the door, and threw it open.