'I have,' answered the widow.
'You have, then, the key of the plate-chest?'
'There is no plate-chest. There is a cupboard.'
'Iron-plated?'
'Oh no; there is no silver, or very little—only some teaspoons, all the rest is electro. But do you think, Mrs. Sidebottom, that dear Mr. Pennycomequick is—is lost?' The widow's eyes filled and she began to cry.
'Lost! oh, of course.'
'But we cannot tell, we do not know, but he may have taken refuge somewhere.'
'Fiddlesticks—I mean, hardly likely. He was on the towpath, and there is no place of refuge he could reach from that.'
'Really dead! really dead!' The poor widow broke down.
'Dead, of course, he is dead, with all this water. Bless me! You would not call in the ocean to drown him. I have known a case of a man in the prime of life who was smothered in six inches.'