The assistant fortune-hunter had been in residence just a month when Mr. Teak, returning home one afternoon, stood in the small passage listening to a suppressed wailing noise proceeding from upstairs. It was so creepy that half-way up he hesitated, and, in a stern but trembling voice, demanded to know what his wife meant by it. A louder wail than before was the only reply, and, summoning up his courage, he pushed open the door of the bedroom and peeped in. His gaze fell on Mrs. Teak, who was sitting on the hearth-rug, rocking to and fro in front of a dismantled fire-place.
“What—what's the matter?” he said, hastily.
Mrs. Teak raised her voice to a pitch that set his teeth on edge. “My money!” she wailed. “It's all gone! All gone!”
“Money?” repeated Mr. Teak, hardly able to contain himself. “What money?”
“All—all my savings!” moaned his wife. “Savings!” said the delighted Mr. Teak. “What savings?”
“Money I have been putting by for our old age,” said his wife. “Three hundred and twenty-two pounds. All gone!”
In a fit of sudden generosity Mr. Teak decided then and there that Mr. Chase should have the odd twenty-two pounds.
“You're dreaming!” he said, sternly.
“I wish I was,” said his wife, wiping her eyes. “Three hundred and twenty-two pounds in empty mustard-tins. Every ha'penny's gone!”
Mr. Teak's eye fell on the stove. He stepped for ward and examined it. The back was out, and Mrs. Teak, calling his attention to a tunnel at the side, implored him to put his arm in and satisfy himself that it was empty.