Saunders began to climb the narrow stairs, with John behind him. But the smith's small eyes had a puzzled look. "There's _somethin'_ rum," he said to himself. "'Ow _did_ she spend it all? 'As she been carryin' on with some one be'ind Isaac's back, or is Isaac in it too? It's one or t'other." Meanwhile, Bessie, left behind, was consumed by a passionate effort of memory. _What_ had she done with the key the night before, after she had locked the cupboard? Her brain was blurred. The blow--the fall--seemed to have confused even the remembrance of the scene with Timothy. How was it, for instance, that she had put the box back in the wrong place? She put her hand to her head, trying in an anguish to recollect the exact details. The little widow sat, meanwhile, a few yards away, her thin hands clasped on her lap in her usual attitude of humble entreaty; her soft, grey eyes, brimmed with tears, were fixed on Bessie. Bessie did not know that she was there--that she existed. The door had closed after the two men. Bessie could hear vague movements, but nothing more. Presently she could bear it no longer. She went to the door and opened it. She was just in time. By the light of the bit of candle that John held, she saw Saunders sitting on the stair, the shadow of his huge frame thrown black on the white wall; she saw him stoop suddenly, as a bird pounces; she heard an exclamation--then a sound of metal. Her involuntary cry startled the men above. "All right, Mrs. Costrell," said Saunders, briskly--"all right. We'll be down directly." She came back into the kitchen, a mist before her eyes, and fell heavily on a chair by the fire. Mary Anne approached her, only to be pushed back. The widow stood listening, in an agony. It took Saunders a minute or two to complete his case. Then he slowly descended the stairs, carrying the box, his great weight making the house shake. He entered the kitchen first, John behind him. But at the same moment that they appeared the outer door opened, and Isaac Costrell, preceded by a gust of snow, stood on the threshold. "Why, John!" he cried, in amazement--"an' _Saunders_!" He looked at them, then at Mary Anne, then at his wife. There was an instant's dead silence. Then the tottering John came forward. "An' I'm glad yer come, Isaac, that I am--thankful! Now yer can tell me what yer wife's done with my money. D'yer mind that box? It wor you an' I carried it across that night as Watson come out on us. An' yo'll bear me witness as we locked it up, an' yo' saw me tie the two keys roun' my neck--yo' _did_, Isaac. An' now, Isaac,"--the hoarse voice began to tremble--"now there's two--suverins--left, and one 'arf-crown--out o' seventy-one pound fower an' sixpence--seventy-one pound, Isaac! Yo'll get it out on 'er, Isaac, yer will, won't yer?" He looked up, imploring.