Calling in one of his men, Mr Sharp began a rigorous search of the house forthwith. Mr Davis suggested that he would go out and see that the men were in their residences; but Mr Sharp said that there was no occasion for that, and that he would be obliged by his remaining and assisting in the search of his own house.
Every hole and corner of the ground-floor was examined without any discovery being made. Mrs Davis, observing that her visitors were particular in collecting every shred of cloth that came in their way, suddenly asked if it was cloth they were in search of. Mr Sharp thought the question and the tone in which it was put told of a guilty conscience, but he replied that he was in search of many things—cloth included.
Immediately after, and while they were busy with a dark closet, Mrs Davis slipped quietly out of the room. Mr Sharp was stooping at the time with his back towards her, but the two back buttons of his coat must have been eyes, for he observed the movement and at once followed her, having previously ordered Mr Davis to move a heavy chest of drawers, in order to keep him employed. Taking off his shoes he went up-stairs rapidly, and seeing an open door, peeped in.
There he saw a sight that would have surprised any man except a superintendent of police. Mrs Davis was engaged in throwing bales of cloth over the window with the energy of a coal-heaver and the haste of one whose house is on fire! The poor woman was not robust, yet the easy way in which she handled those bales was quite marvellous.
Being a cool and patient man, Sharp allowed her to toss over five bales before interrupting her. When she was moving across the room with the sixth and last he entered. She stopped, turned pale, and dropped the bale of cloth.
“You seem to be very busy to-night Mrs Davis” he observed, inquiringly; “can I assist you?”
“Oh, Mr Sharp!” exclaimed Mrs Davis, covering her face with her hands.
She could say no more.
Mr Sharp took her gently by the arm and led her down-stairs. They reached the room below just in time to see Blunt enter, holding the ejected bales with both arms to his bosom. Blunt had happened to take his stand just underneath the window of Mrs Davis’s bedroom, and when that energetic woman tossed the bales out she pitched them straight into Blunt’s willing arms. The accommodating man waited until he had received all that appeared likely to be delivered to him, and then with a quiet chuckle bore them, as we have seen, into Davis’s parlour.
“This is a bad business, Davis,” said Sharp, as he slipped a pair of manacles on his prisoner.