"He told me there wur another, but 'twas lost," replied Bessie, adding with the same spirit of determination, "I wouldn't take twelve pounds neither. Robert ses not a thing in the house can be sold without his consent."

"Who's Robert Mudge?" cried Kezia, in the voice of pa.s.sion.

"He's my husband," replied Bessie.

"And who be you?"

"I'm his wife."

"Sure enough! They'm husband and wife. I saw 'em married," said the Wallower in Wealth, with a distinct impression that Bessie was winning on points.

"I don't know what's going to happen to us, I'm sure," said Kezia. Then, in accordance with military strategy, she conquered the enemy by abandoning her position and slamming the door after her.

That evening Bessie advanced as usual for coffee, which included a hot meal, and during this campaign Robert did not accompany her, being detained, according to the best of his wife's belief, in the bakery, working overtime at buns. Kezia distrusted this communication, as no festival of buns was impending, and arrived at the conclusion that the a.s.sistant baker had absented himself from coffee drinking owing to a bashfulness not uncommon in the time of war and tumults. Having, as she supposed, abated the pride of Robert, Kezia sought to a.s.suage the malice of Bessie by small talk concerning Miss Yard's convalescence, the departure of George, which was positively final like the last appearance of an actor, and the Turkish state of things at Black Anchor. But the musical box remained an obsession, playing a seductive jig for Bessie, and a triumphal march for Kezia; and at last the former said:

"Me and Robert ha' been talking, and he ses nothing should be took away avore Miss Sophy dies."

"That's what my dear missus said. Not me, nor you, nor Mr. George, wur to touch anything till Miss Sophy had been put away," agreed Kezia.

"Didn't Mr. George sell part o' the cloam?" asked Bessie.

"Well, Bess, I did give 'en a pair of old vases. I know I ought not to ha' done it, but we've got plenty o' cloam, and I wanted the poor fellow to have something, him being a relation."

"What us wants to think about is this," Bessie continued, "me and you ain't agoing to quarrel. Mrs. Drake made a lot of mistakes in her lifetime, poor thing, and 'tis vor us to make the best of 'em."

"I'm sure I put in a good word vor you many a time," declared Kezia.

"I know you did," said Bessie warmly.

"I used to say to missus, 'Never mind about me, but do ye leave Mr.

George and Bessie something. I don't care about myself,' I said."

"When us come back from Miss Sophy's funeral, us will divide up the things. First I'll take something."

"First me!" said Kezia sharply.

"You'm the eldest. You can take first," said the generous Bessie. Then she inclined her head towards the door and whispered, "Ain't that someone in the hall?"

"'Tis only Miss Nellie," said Kezia. "There's a drop o' cocoa left in the saucepan, Bess."

"I'm sorry us had words today, Kezia," said Bessie, as she took the drop.

"Don't ye say anything more about it. I'm sure the dear missus would walk if she fancied we weren't friendly. But I do wish she hadn't got so forgetful like."

"That ain't Nellie!" cried Bessie, listening again.

"Sounds as if Miss Sophy had got out of bed and fallen down."

"'Twas a b.u.mp vor certain. I'm agoing to see," said Bessie, opening the kitchen door.

She advanced along the pa.s.sage, but was back in a moment.

"The hall door's wide open--and I saw a light from the parlour."

"There's a man in the house!" screamed Kezia. "Don't ye go out, Bess!"

"Who's there?" called the valorous Bessie, advancing again to the pa.s.sage. Then she shrunk back, crying:

"Here's a young man--and here's an old 'un. They're carrying something.

Don't ye go out, Kezia."

"Oh, my dear, I ain't agoing to," faltered Kezia, retiring into the far corner of the scullery.

"They'm running!" Bessie muttered. "One wur youngish, and t'other wur oldish. They ha' gone now. I heard 'em shut the gate."

"'Tis they Brocks," whispered Kezia in terror of her life.

"'Tis somebody who knew Miss Sophy wur lying ill in bed."

Bessie took the lamp and went forth boldly, calling a challenge at every step. Presently Kezia plucked up courage to follow, and they went together into the parlour.

The musical box had disappeared: so had the pair of silver candlesticks, the Russian Ikon, and various other rich and rare antiquities.

"Oh, Kezia; ain't it awful in a Christian country!" exclaimed Bessie.

"Go vor policeman! No, don't ye--they may come back again."

Then Kezia's eyes fell upon the mummy, and she cried hysterically, "Thank heaven they ha' spared the King of Egypt!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE GRABBERS

The constable, an exceedingly able man who was expecting to become a sergeant, gave it as his opinion that a thief had been at work. In support of this theory he pointed out certain prints of hob-nailed boots, which upon examination he discovered to be his own. Thereupon he increased his reputation by a shake of the head, and the statement that, even in a small community, mysteries were bound to happen.

Kezia began to mutter about Sidney Brock, who had eaten and drunk in her kitchen, and had endeavoured to entice Nellie into his harem; while Bessie had the effrontery to suggest she had seen two dark shadows, unquestionably substantial, disappearing along the lane in the direction of Black Anchor.

"You can get to London by that road," replied the policeman. "Were they walking or running?" he inquired.

"When I last saw 'em they was running fit to break their necks," said Bessie.

The constable twirled his moustache and smiled in a superior fashion; for he was about to make a point.

"Running with a musical box pretty near the size of a piano, not to mention other articles of furniture," he said.