I never saw
anything like her clothes in all my life. There was hardly a button or a
tape on; and as for her stockings--"
"She don't get much time," said Mr. Negget, slowly.
"That's right; I thought you'd speak up for her," cried his wife,
shrilly.
"Look here--" began Mr. Negget, laying his pipe on the seat by his side
and rising slowly.
"Keep to the case in hand," said the ex-constable, waving him back to his
seat again. "Now, Lizzie."
"I searched her box through and through," said his niece, "but it wasn't
there; then I came down again and had a rare good cry all to myself."
"That's the best way for you to have it," remarked Mr. Negget, feelingly.
Mrs. Negget's uncle instinctively motioned his niece to silence, and
holding his chin in his hand, scowled frightfully in the intensity of
thought.
"See a cloo?" inquired Mr. Negget, affably.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, George," said his wife, angrily;
"speaking to uncle when he's looking like that."
Mr. Bodfish said nothing; it is doubtful whether he even heard these
remarks; but he drew a huge notebook from his pocket, and after vainly
trying to point his pencil by suction, took a knife from the table and
hastily sharpened it.
"Was the brooch there last night?" he inquired.
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