The girl’s face declared her guilt; she had hardly attempted denial. Then, with a clamour of furious verbosity, Ada enlightened her husband on other points of Emma’s behaviour. It was a long story, gathered, in the last few minutes, partly from the culprit herself, partly from her fellow-servants. Emma had got into the clutches of a jewellery tallyman, one of the fellows who sell trinkets to servant-girls on the pay-by-instalment system. She had made several purchases of gewgaws, and had already paid three or four times their value, but was still in debt to the tallyman, who threatened all manner of impossible proceedings if she did not make up her arrears. Bottomless ignorance and imbecile vanity had been the girl’s ruin, aided by a grave indiscretion on Peachey’s part, of which he was to hear presently. Some one must go to the police-station and make a formal charge. Ada would undertake this duty with pious eagerness, enjoying it all the more because of loud wailings and entreaties which the girl now addressed to her master. Peachey looked at his sisters-in-law, and in neither face perceived a compassionate softening. Fanny stood by as at a spectacle provided for her amusement, without rancour, but equally without pity. Beatrice was contemptuous. What right, said her countenance, had a servant-girl to covet jewellery? And how pitiable the spirit that prompted to a filching of half-crowns! For the criminals of finance, who devastate a thousand homes, Miss French had no small admiration; crimes such as the present were mean and dirty. Ada reappeared, hurriedly clad for going forth; but no one had fetched a cab. Incensed, she ordered her husband to do so. ‘Who are you speaking to?’ he replied wrathfully. ‘I am not your servant.’ Fanny laughed. The policeman, professionally calm, averted a smiling face. ‘It’s nothing to me,’ said Mrs. Peachey. ‘I’m quite willing to walk. Come along, constable.’ Her husband interposed. ‘The girl doesn’t go from my house until she’s properly dressed.’ He turned to the other servants. ‘Please to blow the whistle at the door, or get a cab somehow. Emma, go upstairs and put your things on.’ ‘It was about time you behaved like a man,’ fell quietly from Beatrice. ‘You’re right.’ He looked sternly at the speaker. ‘It _is_ time, and that you shall all know.’ The culprit, suddenly silent, obeyed his order. The constable went out at the front door, and there waited whilst a cab-summoning whistle shrilled along De Crespigny Park.