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.

"The box wur big, but not very heavy," explained Kezia. "It stood upon legs, four of 'em, but a man could lift it off and carry it."

"And the legs would follow after?" suggested the policeman, who believed in making people laugh; but he failed on this occasion.

"They would have to walk back for the legs," Kezia explained.

"How many men did you say there were?"

"Two, but I wouldn't swear to nothing," replied the tactful Bessie.

"If policeman wur to go along the lane he might catch up wi' them," suggested Kezia.

The officer declined, pointing out that it would be a physical impossibility for two men to carry such bulky articles all the way to Black Anchor, and a moral impossibility to do so and escape detection. Then he sought for information concerning the ownership of the purloined property.

"'Tis mine," came the simultaneous answer.

"That wants a lawyer," said the policeman, beginning to show the acumen which was winning him promotion; and when the position had been explained he continued, "Maybe Mrs. Drake left a like paper for Miss Yard?"

"Two of 'em," said Kezia.

"Leaving her everything?"

"Just the house and a pair of silver candlesticks."

"What ha' been stolen," added Bessie.

"And a paper for Miss Blisland?" went on the policeman, longing for a superior officer to hear him.

"Her left she the round table in the parlour, but that be rightfully mine," replied Kezia.

"Mine too," said Bessie.

"Likely enough she left a bit of writing for Mr. Drake?"

"He got a bit, but he wouldn't show it to no one," said Kezia.

"Maybe the person who took the things has got about as much right to them as certain other folks," said the constable darkly. "That's all I can say at present, but I'll make inquiries in the morning," he added, as Robert came up to find out what had happened.

Highfield was an honest place, where a farmer did not wait for a dark night to divert his neighbour's water supply, or postpone the cutting down of a hedge, which did not belong to him, to a misty day. The inhabitants therefore were convulsed with horror when informed by Robert that an act of real dishonesty had happened: to wit, a pair of desperate ruffians had broken into Windward House and departed with much furniture. It became at once obvious to everybody, except the policeman, that the district had been systematically plundered. Squinting Jack declared, now he came to think of it, eggs had been missing from his hen roost for weeks past; the Wallower in Wealth swore that a sum not exceeding twenty-five shillings had been extracted from his mattress; while the Dumpy Philosopher discovered a number of vacancies among the red cabbages in his back garden.

This being a matter of morality, the vicar was made the victim of a deputation, headed by the Dismal Gibcat, an inevitable but unfortunate selection, as this gentleman had not said his prayers in public for some years, because, according to his own statement, a violent fit of nasal catarrh seized upon him immediately he entered the church. The Dismal Gibcat, encouraged by the silent but moral support of several Nonconformists, who were generally credited with loving their neighbours rather more earnestly than themselves, framed an indictment against the Brocks: they were aliens who had sprung up at Black Anchor with the suddenness of toadstools; no respectable female presides in their kitchen; they were visited frequently by women of a certain class; they had already corrupted the young people of the neighbourhood; and were now breaking into houses and removing every article of value. Assassination of prominent personages would follow in due course.

"You are entirely mistaken," replied the vicar, somewhat stiffly. "It must be well known to the parish that I often visit the Brocks."

"They do say you'm friendly wi' every one," observed the Dismal Gibcat bitterly, as he was obviously an exception.

"I hope so. At all events I like the Brocks – indeed, I respect them."

"How about they women and gals?" cried the Dismal Gibcat.

"Probably their presence can be explained. As for this robbery, it is ridiculous to suspect the Brocks. I may as well mention that I knew something about them before they came here," said the vicar.

"They ses you turned Sidney out of the choir because he teased the maidens."

"That is quite untrue. He resigned and explained his reason for doing so."

"Well, if they'm friends of yours, 'tis no use us talking; but I believe they took them things as much as if I'd seen 'em doing it. Ain't that the general opinion?" demanded the Dismal Gibcat of his limp supporters.

"I takes volks as I finds 'em," replied the Dumpy Philosopher.

"I wouldn't like to say parson goes shares wi' the Brocks in everything – in every single thing," observed the Dismal Gibcat, as the deputation retired, "but I shouldn't be surprised if a lot o' volk didn't think so."

During this excitement Percy and his young lady arrived, two days before they were expected, and flustered Kezia so that she could think of the robbery only at intervals. Bessie made no mention of it: neither did Robert, though he went to the village shop, purchased a pound of candles, and tried unsuccessfully to buy a bottle of lubricating oil. As it was impossible in Highfield to enter into secret negotiations for the purchase of even a penny tin of mustard, the policeman, in the course of his inquiries, heard about it and, having worked out the problem without the aid of pencil and notebook, he proceeded to the bakery and told Robert he ought to be ashamed of himself.

"For why?" asked the assistant baker, with the assurance of a man who had nine points of the law in his favour.

"What did you buy this morning at Mrs. Trivell's shop?"

"Bottle o' blacking," replied Robert.

"Sure it wasn't whitewash? What else did you buy?"

"Penn'orth o' blacklead," said Robert cheerfully.

"Making the case pretty black, ain't you? You didn't buy a pound of candles, of course – best wax candles. But, if you did buy candles, what were you going to do with them?"

"I don't know what you can do wi' candles except light them," said Robert.

"And you didn't buy a bottle of lubricating oil, because Mrs. Trivell hasn't got any. If you did buy a bottle of salad oil, what would you be going to do with it?" continued the policeman, in his best and brainish manner.

"You can do pretty near anything wi' salad oil," declared Robert.

"Among the things stolen from Windward House last night were a pair of silver candlesticks and a musical box, out of order, but perhaps it might play a tune if you oiled the works," said the policeman sternly.

Robert stroked his nose and mentioned that an officer who could put one thing to another like that, was not at all required in Highfield parish.

"What were you doing when this robbery was taking place?" came the question.

"I fancy I might have been giving a hand," Robert admitted cautiously.

"Who helped you?"

"I don't know as anybody helped. But it wasn't a robbery, vor Mrs. Drake left all the things to Bessie," said Robert cheerfully.

"And to other folks as well."

"I b'ain't responsible vor that. First come, first served; and other volks take at their peril, I ses."

"It's my duty to tell Miss Blisland you took the things. Where have you hidden 'em?"

"Inside the peatstack. If you'm going to tell Kezia, I shall shift the things into town and sell 'em."

"That's your affair," replied the constable. "Seems you haven't exactly committed a robbery, as you have a sort o' right to the things; and you haven't committed a trespass, as you can go into the house when you want to. So I can't charge you with anything. But I reckon it won't be long before you have the lawyers after you; and then the Lord ha' mercy on your pocket, Robert Mudge."

Before the constable could reach Windward House to report how easily he solved a problem, his wife ran to meet him with cheering information concerning a great fire upon the outskirts of the parish; and, as conflagrations are things no policeman can resist, he mounted his bicycle and scorched towards an isolated farmhouse which was doomed to destruction; as its bankrupt owner had taken the precaution to store plenty of dry faggots, well sprinkled with petroleum, within the well-insured premises. The farmer was sitting upon an upturned pail, which smelt of anything but water, bemoaning his fate, and informing the neighbours that spontaneous combustion would happen sometimes no matter what you did to prevent it, when the constable arrived, sniffing greedily at the clue-laden atmosphere. The farmer replied that the oil barrel had leaked terribly, and there was no preventing that either. The policeman investigated, went on his way to report, and returned with papers in his pocket; and, while teaching the farmer a few cheerless facts concerning the legal meaning of arson, such a trifling affair as the Highfield grabbing passed naturally and conveniently from his mind.

Percy introduced himself to his Aunt, kissed her upon both checks according to a family tradition; the bride elect followed his example; and they all talked of Tasmania, tomatoes, tickets, and travelling, with a few remarks upon marriage licences, until Miss Yard rolled off the sofa for sheer joy of motion.

"Nellie!" she called. "Pack my things at once! Percy and Emmie have got a licence to go to Tasmania, and tickets to get married, and I won't stay here any longer."

"But this is your home, Aunt," mentioned Percy.

"And there are not many places like that, you know," Miss Lee added.

"I used to have a much better home than this. We had tea parties, and mothers' meetings, and all sorts of nice things. I'm going to forget the past and begin all over again."

"Miss Sophy is quite serious," Nellie explained, when Percy approached her on the subject. "It's very seldom she keeps an idea in her head, but, when she does, it governs her completely. Ever since she was stung by the wasp she has been worrying to get away."

"How about taking her back to Drivelford?" suggested Percy.

"That would do nicely. But you must see to it, else Mr. Drake will; and there will be more trouble between him and Hunter."

"George has gone for good," said Percy sternly.

"He told me all he had to do was to go away; there was nothing said in the agreement about the time he was to be away. Miss Sophy has written already inviting him back."

"If he insists upon returning here to live – " began Percy.

"You will be at the other end of the world, and Hunter won't know anything about it," she concluded.

"George is a great scoundrel," said Percy. "I have only another two weeks in England; but I suppose I must go to Drivelford and find a house."

Miss Yard was delighted when Nellie informed her that the golden age of tea and talk was about to be restored; and she blessed Percy with such tenderness that her nephew felt compelled to make her a most liberal offer.

"You know, Aunt, the furniture in this house belongs to me. It was left to George, and I bought it from him for two hundred pounds. Don't you think the best plan would be for you to buy it from me for – shall we say – one hundred and fifty pounds? I lose and you gain, but that's as it should be."

"What an excellent idea!" cried Miss Yard. "Nellie, bring my cheque-book."

"You cannot afford to spend so much money, especially as we have a move before us," said Nellie quietly.

"Oh, I'll take a hundred pounds," said Percy.

"Miss Sophy cannot afford that either."

"That's what she always says, but I tell her I can afford it," said Miss Yard crossly.

Percy began to feel uncomfortable, as this was the first time his golden goose had been prohibited from egg laying. He made up his mind that Nellie was developing into an offensive young person; honest no doubt, and admirably suited to control Miss Yard; but with mistaken notions as to the dignity of a nephew and trustee. He sought, therefore, a secret interview with the young lady, in order that he might caution her against any further opposition, and remind her that in all financial matters his word must be the last; and this interview was granted very willingly.

"Sit down, please," he began, when they had entered the dining room.

"If you stand, I shall too," replied Nellie, who was holding a small article wrapped in paper.

"Just as you like," said Percy. "Is that Miss Yard's passbook?"

"No," she replied. "But if you want to see the passbook I will fetch it. Miss Sophy has a little over two hundred pounds at present."

"Another dividend is due next month. My aunt is quite able to pay a hundred pounds for the furniture."

"The question is," said Nellie, "to whom does the furniture belong?"

"To me, of course."

"Have you what the lawyers call a good title?"

"I hope you are not going to be impertinent, Miss Blisland," said Percy sharply.

"I know Mrs. Drake left the furniture to Mr. George," she continued, thankful of her promise not to mention those numerous scraps of paper.

"And I bought the stuff from him."

"With Miss Sophy's money."

"What has that to do with you? I can borrow from my aunt, and of course she does not expect me to repay the money."

"But I expect it. I manage her affairs, and I tell you plainly this borrowing must cease. I shall not allow Miss Sophy to pay you a single penny for the furniture, because it is hers already," said Nellie, with all the coldness of a magistrate sentencing a poacher.

"The little devil! You had better keep your mouth shut, or I may be tempted to say something rude. I don't want to forget I am talking to a young woman. You have just got to do what I tell you," blustered Percy.

"But I decline," said Nellie sweetly.

"Then you can look out for another job. I shall tell Hunter I have dismissed you for gross impertinence. That's all I have to say. You may go now."

"Thank you," she said. "But I haven't finished yet. I want to know what is going to be done about the furniture."

"I have nothing more to say to you."

"You must tell Miss Sophy, and she will consult me. So I may as well hear your decision at once."

"I shall have a sale," replied Percy. "My aunt can buy new furniture when she gets to Drivelford. After all, it's not so very much more expensive than moving it."

"You will do nothing of the kind," said Nellie.

Again Percy was tempted to say something rude; and again he yielded. Then an explanation flashed across his mind and he began to laugh.

"I see what it is! My aunt has promised to leave you as much as she can – "

"Then why should I object to her buying the furniture?"

"All I know is you won't get it. I shall visit the nearest auctioneer tomorrow – "

"It's time we changed the subject. I believe this is your property," interrupted Nellie, holding out the packet wrapped in paper. "Do you think it fair to ask Miss Sophy to pay for the furniture twice over, when you have just come into two thousand pounds?" she added.

"Who told you that?" cried Percy, snatching the packet and tearing off the covering. "My pocketbook! You stole it from my room. You have been through my letters. You are the most unscrupulous young woman!"

"We had better not talk about stealing. Perhaps you remember sitting in the garden with Miss Lee yesterday evening. You did not come in until dark, and you were so much engaged in discussing your plans that you forgot to bring in the chairs. You also forgot your pocketbook. Kezia found it and gave it to me. Now I return it."

"After turning it inside out," he muttered, dropping the lion's hide and assuming the calfskin.

"I have not even opened it," she replied.

"Then how do you know I have come into two thousand pounds?"

"A gentleman called Crampy told me."

"Crampy! He couldn't tell you – he wouldn't!"

"It must have been one of the parrots then," said Nellie gleefully. "Let me tell you a story! Once upon a time there was an idle gentleman who had made up his mind never to work for his living, because he owned a pair of Chinese vases which were supposed to be priceless. This gentleman had a cousin, who knew the vases were exceedingly valuable, and, as he was a bad man, in fact a terribly unscrupulous man," said Nellie, opening her eyes widely.

"Here, I say! You stop that!" bellowed Percy.

"I'm having my revenge for being called a little devil," she said gaily. "As this cousin was a thorough scoundrel, he determined to grab the vases, so he went to another unscrupulous man called Crampy and told him, if he could get the vases cheaply from the idle gentleman, he should have half the profit. Crampy agreed, visited the gentleman, saw that the vases were genuine, and offered him a thousand pounds. The offer was refused and Crampy went away, beaten on the first round. His next step was to send the idle gentleman a list of collectors who could be trusted; and this was followed by a visit from an American millionaire, Josiah P. Jenkins, who in his own domestic circle was generally known as Bill Sawdye."

Percy forgot himself and swore.

"The story is not very clear at this point, but it appears Bill Sawdye was a sort of handyman employed by Crampy for dirty little jobs like this. He offered the idle gentleman two thousand pounds for the vases. This was accepted, Bill paid the money, and took the things away."

"I don't want to hear any more," muttered Percy, gulping like a fish.

"But I must have the satisfaction of showing you how well up I am in the latest criminal news," said Nellie. "Next day Bill sent back the vases, swearing they were forgeries, and assuring him Crampy was the last hope. The idle gentleman communicated at once with Crampy, agreeing to accept his offer. Crampy paid the thousand pounds and went off with the vases. He sold them for five thousand, and that left four thousand to be divided between the wicked cousin and himself. It was understood that Crampy should pay Bill and all expenses. These two scoundrels expect to live happily ever after, but I'm sure they won't," concluded Nellie.

"I was a fool to have kept Crampy's letter. But what right had you to take it out of my pocketbook and read it?" growled Percy.

"I told you I never looked inside your pocketbook, but you left it unfastened, and there was a good deal of wind in the night. This morning, when I went out to pick sweet-peas, I saw a letter blown against the sticks. I glanced at it out of ordinary curiosity, I read on out of interest, and I finished it out of duty."

"Now you can hand it over," said Percy sulkily.

"I intend to keep it for the present. I may even have to send it on to Mr. George."

"He can't do anything. It was a trick, but a perfectly straightforward business trick. Crampy made an offer, and he accepted it."

"Mr. George is a stronger man than you, though he does pretend to have a weak back. If he knew about this, and could get at you, I believe he would break your head. He would write to Hunter anyhow, tell Miss Lee and all her family – "

"Do you know his address?"

"Yes, and I can bring him here tomorrow; and I will too, if you refuse to make over the furniture to Miss Sophy. That is only fair, as she has paid for it."

"If I consent to make my aunt a present of the furniture?" suggested Percy.

"Then I promise not to mention the matter to Mr. George."

"All right. I'll tell Hunter to draw up a deed of gift. Of course you understand it would be useless telling George, as he cannot recover the vases or make any claim against me?"

"Then why are you clearing out of the country?"

"The soil of Tasmania is said to be ideal for – "

"Fugitives from justice," finished Nellie.

"Emmie, my darling," said Percy, a few minutes after this interview, "I feel quite certain there is something wrong with the drains. I shall tell aunt we are leaving in the morning."

"Percy is so wonderfully unselfish," said Miss Yard to Nellie that evening. "He has made me a present of all the furniture; and tomorrow he is going to find me a new home."