'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!' '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 this 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.