Outwardly Jobling did not deign to notice this insult, but it struck deep all the same. He strode back through the village and burst into the little post-office.
"Auntie," he said loudly, "I'm goin' up to the Manor to-day to 'ave a look round."
"An' about time too," replied his aunt in acid tones.
But there were several people present, and it was obvious that P.C. Jobling's resolution had caused the general opinion to veer round once again in his favor.
"Good lad," said an aged gentleman. "Find out all you can. Thieves an' robbers they'll be, I reckon. Tell p'liceman what you 'eard, Mary."
Mary, one of the maids at Dunwater Park, spoke up, pleased at occupying a position of public importance.
"They're gold hoarders, Mr. Jobling," she said. "The mistress an' Lootenant Allen was there yesterday an' saw it."
"Ah," put in somebody, "an' where do they get their food from, eh? Not in the village, nor yet from London. You go an' 'ave a look round, Artie, an' if you come back all right you'll be made a sergeant."
"Why shouldn't I come back all right?" demanded Artie, with a chill at his spine. "Miss FitzPeter did."
"She's quality—they wouldn't dare touch 'er."