There were grunts of satisfaction. “But don't you feel the need of pardon, brother,” said Cæsar.
“I don't,” said Pete. “What I was doing I was doing for the best, and, if I was doing wrong, the Almighty will have to forgive me—that's about all.”
Cæsar shot out his lip. Pete raised himself to his full height and looked from face to face, until his eyes settled on the postman.
“But it takes a thief to catch a thief,” he said. “Which of you was the thief that catcht me? Maybe I've been only a blundering blockhead, and perhaps you've been clever, and smart uncommon, but I'm thinking there's some of you hasn't been rocked enough for all that.”
He held out the yellow envelope. “This letter was sealed when you gave it to me, Mr. Cregeen—how did you know what was inside of it? 'On Her Majesty's Sarvice,' you say. But it isn't dead letters only that's coming with words same as that.”
The postman was meddling with his front hair.
“The Lord has His own wayses of doing His work, has He, Cæsar? I never heard tell, though, that opening other people's letters was one of them.”
Mr. Kelly's ferret eyes were nearly twinkling themselves out.
Pete threw letter and envelope into the fire. “You've come to tell me you're going to turn my wife out of class. All right! You can turn me out, too, and if the money I gave you is anywhere handy, you can turn that out at the same time and make a clane job.”
Black Tom was doubling with suppressed laughter at the corner of the dresser, and Cæsar was writhing under his searching glances.