He looked carefully at the two sovereigns lying on the bit of old cloth which covered the bottom of the box, and the one half-crown that Timothy had forgotten; he took up the bit of cloth and shook it, he felt along the edge of the box, he examined the wrenched lock. Then he stood for an instant, his hand on the box, his eyes staring straight before him in a kind of dream.

Saunders grew impatient. He pushed John aside, and came to the table, leaning his hands upon it, so as to command Isaac's face.

'Now, look 'ere, Isaac,' he said, in a different voice from any that he had yet employed, 'let's come to business. These 'ere are the facks o'

this case, an 'ow we're a-goin to get over 'em, I don see. John leaves his money in your cupboard. Yo an he lock it up, an John goes away with 'is keys 'ung roun 'is neck. Yo agree to that? Well and good. But there's _another_ key in your 'ouse, Isaac, as opens John's cupboard.

Ah--'

He waved his hand in deprecation of Isaac's movement.

'I dessay yo didn't know nowt about it--that's noather 'ere nor there.

Yo try John's key in that there door'--he pointed to the cupboard by the fire--'an yo'll find it fits _ex_--act. Then, thinks I, where's the key as belongs to that 'ere cupboard? An John an I goes upstairs to look about us, an in noa time at aw, I sees a 'ole in the skirtin. I whips in my finger--lor bless yer! I knew it wor there the moment I sets eyes on the hole.'

He held up the key triumphantly. By this time, no Old Bailey lawyer making a hanging speech could have had more command of his task.

''Ere then we 'ave'--he checked the items off on his fingers--'box locked up--key in the 'ouse as fits it, unbeknown to John--money tuk out--key 'idden away. But that's not all--not by long chalks--there's another side to the affair _hal_togefher.'

Saunders drew himself up, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and cleared his throat.

'Per'aps yer don know--I'm sartin sure yer don know--leastways I'm hinclined that way--as Mrs. Costrell'--he made a polite inclination towards Bessie--''ave been makin free with money--fower--five--night a week at the "Spotted Deer"--fower--five--night a week. She'd used to treat every young feller, an plenty old uns too, as turned up; an there was a many as only went to Dawson's becos they knew as she'd treat 'em.

Now she didn't go on tick at Dawson's; she'd _pay_--an she allus payed in 'arf-crowns. An those arf-crowns were curous 'arf-crowns; an it came into Dawson's [transcriber's note: "Dawon's" in original] 'ead as he'd colleck them 'arf-crowns. 'Ee wanted to see summat, 'ee said--an I dessay 'ee did. An people began to taak. Last night theer wor a bit of a roompus, it seems, while Mrs. Costrell was a-payin another o' them things, an summat as was said come to my ears--an come to Watson's. An me and Watson 'ave been makin inquiries--an Mr. Dawson wor obligin enough to make me a small loan, 'ee wor. Now I've got just one question to ask o' John Borroful.'

He put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, and drew out a silver coin.

'Is that yourn, John?'

John fell upon it with a cry.

'Aye, Saunders, it's mine. Look ye 'ere, Isaac, it's a king's 'ead. It's Willum--not Victory. I saved that un up when I wor a lad at Mason's, an look yer, there's my mark in the corner--every arf-crown I ever 'ad I marked like that.'

He held it under Isaac's staring eyes, pointing to the little scratched cross in the corner.

''Ere's another, John--two on 'em,' said Saunders, pulling out a second and a third.

John, in a pa.s.sion of hope, identified them both.

'Then,' said Saunders, slapping the table solemnly, 'theer's n.o.bbut one more thing to say--an sorry I am to say it. Them coins, Isaac'--he pointed a slow finger at Bessie, whose white, fierce face moved involuntarily--'them 'arf-crowns wor paid across the bar la.s.st night, or the night afore, at Dawson's, by _yor wife_, as is now stannin there, an she'll deny it if she can!'

For an instant the whole group preserved their positions--the breath suspended on their lips.

Then Isaac strode up to his wife, and gripped her by the arms.

'Did yer do it?' he asked her.

He held her, looking into her eyes, Slowly she sank away from him; she would have fallen, but for a chair that stood beside her.

'Oh, yer brute!' she said, turning her head to Saunders an instant, and speaking under her breath, with a kind of sob. 'Yer _brute_!'

Isaac walked to the door, and threw it open.

'Per'aps yer'll go,' he said, grimly.

And the three went, without a word.

SCENE V

So the husband and wife were left together in the cottage room. The door had no sooner closed on Saunders and his companions than Isaac was seized with that strange sense of walking amid things unreal upon a wavering earth which is apt to beset the man who has any portion of the dreamer's temperament, under any sudden rush of circ.u.mstance. He drew his hand across his brow, bewildered. The fire leapt and chattered in the grate; the newly-washed tea-things on the table shone under the lamp; the cat lay curled, as usual, on the chair where he sat after supper to read his _Christian World_; yet all things were not the same.

What had changed?

Then across poor John's rifled box he saw his wife sitting rigid on the chair where he had left her.

He came and sat down at the corner of the table, close to her, his chin on his hand.

''Ow did yer spend it?' he said, startled, as the words came out, by his own voice, so grinding and ugly was the note of it.

Her miserable eyes travelled over his face, seeking as it were, for some promise, however faint, of future help and succour, however distant.

Apparently she saw none, for her own look flamed to fresh defiance.

'I didn't spend it. Saunders wor lyin.'

''Ow did yer get them half-crowns?'

'I got 'em at Bedford. Mr. Grimstone give 'em me.'

Isaac looked at her hard, his shame burning into his heart. This was how she had got her money for the gin. Of course, she had lied to him the night before, in her account of her fall, and of that mark on her forehead, which still showed, a red disfigurement, under the hair she had drawn across it. The sight of it, of her, began to excite in him a quick loathing. He was at bottom a man of violent pa.s.sions, and in the presence of evil-doing so flagrant, so cruel--of a household ruin so complete--his religion failed him.

'When was it as yer opened that box fust?' he asked her again, scorning her denials.

She burst into a rage of tears, lifting her ap.r.o.n to her eyes, and flinging names at him that he scarcely heard.

There was a little cold tea in a cup close to him that Bessie had forgotten. He stretched out his hand, and took a mouthful, moistening his dry lips and throat.

'Yer'll go to prison for this,' he said, jerking it out as he put the cup down.

He saw her shiver. Her nerve was failing her. The convulsive sobs continued, but she ceased to abuse him. He wondered when he should be able to get it out of her. He himself could no more have wept than iron and fire weep.

'Are yer goin to tell me when yer took that money, and 'ow yer spent it?

'Cos, if yer don't, I shall go to Watson.'

Even in her abas.e.m.e.nt it struck her as shameful, unnatural, that he, her husband, should say this. Her remorse returned upon her heart, like a tide driven back. She answered him not a word.

He put his silver watch on the table.

'I'll give yer two minutes,' he said.

There was silence in the cottage except for the choking, hysterical sounds she could not master. Then he took up his hat again, and went out into the snow, which was by now falling fast.