“Yessuh,” said Old Sally gratefully. “And friends of your mistress's.”
Old Sally bristled. “My young mist'ess ain' needin' no frien's 'roun' yeah. She hol's her haid high!”
“Well, admirers, then,” the Little Red Doctor tactfully amended. “The point is, we want to help. Now, haven't you got some things there you could sell without missing them? Some of that old furniture must be valuable.”
“Sell the Tallaffeh homestead fuhni-ture!” cried Old Sally, scandalized.
“Well, perhaps madam has more of that old lace than she needs.”
“The Pinckney lace!” said Old Sally in a tone of flat finality, which settled that point.
“Possibly, then, the diamonds,” I suggested diffidently.
At this Old Sally's lips, which had been pressed firmly inward, inverted themselves. She began to blubber. The blubbering became a sobbing. The sobs waxed to subdued howls. From the midst of the howls one coherent and astounding statement emerged:—
“I stole'em.”
“Stole the Pemberton diamonds!” cried Mr. Boggs in consternation. His structure of social splendor was fast disintegrating. “What did you do with em?”