‘A hundred and fifty odd pound,’ resumed Mr. Bounderby. ‘That sum of money, young Tom locked in his safe, not a very strong safe, but that’s no matter now. Everything was left, all right. Some time in the night, while this young fellow snored—Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am, you say you have heard him snore?’ ‘Sir,’ returned Mrs. Sparsit, ‘I cannot say that I have heard him precisely snore, and therefore must not make that statement. But on winter evenings, when he has fallen asleep at his table, I have heard him, what I should prefer to describe as partially choke. I have heard him on such occasions produce sounds of a nature similar to what may be sometimes heard in Dutch clocks. Not,’ said Mrs. Sparsit, with a lofty sense of giving strict evidence, ‘that I would convey any imputation on his moral character. Far from it. I have always considered Bitzer a young man of the most upright principle; and to that I beg to bear my testimony.’ ‘Well!’ said the exasperated Bounderby, ‘while he was snoring, _or_ choking, _or_ Dutch-clocking, _or_ something _or_ other—being asleep—some fellows, somehow, whether previously concealed in the house or not remains to be seen, got to young Tom’s safe, forced it, and abstracted the contents. Being then disturbed, they made off; letting themselves out at the main door, and double-locking it again (it was double-locked, and the key under Mrs. Sparsit’s pillow) with a false key, which was picked up in the street near the Bank, about twelve o’clock to-day. No alarm takes place, till this chap, Bitzer, turns out this morning, and begins to open and prepare the offices for business. Then, looking at Tom’s safe, he sees the door ajar, and finds the lock forced, and the money gone.’ ‘Where is Tom, by the by?’ asked Harthouse, glancing round. ‘He has been helping the police,’ said Bounderby, ‘and stays behind at the Bank. I wish these fellows had tried to rob me when I was at his time of life. They would have been out of pocket if they had invested eighteenpence in the job; I can tell ’em that.’ ‘Is anybody suspected?’ ‘Suspected? I should think there was somebody suspected. Egod!’ said Bounderby, relinquishing Mrs. Sparsit’s arm to wipe his heated head. ‘Josiah Bounderby of Coketown is not to be plundered and nobody suspected. No, thank you!’ Might Mr. Harthouse inquire Who was suspected? ‘Well,’ said Bounderby, stopping and facing about to confront them all, ‘I’ll tell you. It’s not to be mentioned everywhere; it’s not to be mentioned anywhere: in order that the scoundrels concerned (there’s a gang of ’em) may be thrown off their guard. So take this in confidence. Now wait a bit.’ Mr. Bounderby wiped his head again. ‘What should you say to;’ here he violently exploded: ‘to a Hand being in it?’ ‘I hope,’ said Harthouse, lazily, ‘not our friend Blackpot?’ ‘Say Pool instead of Pot, sir,’ returned Bounderby, ‘and that’s the man.’ Louisa faintly uttered some word of incredulity and surprise.