Putting it to be as Miss Betty put it--and I may as well say here that nothing turned up, then or later, to change the opinion--it looked rather suspicious for Sam Dene. I think the Squire saw it. "I suppose you are sure the box was on the table when you left the room, Miss Betty?" said he. "Why, of course I am sure, Squire," she answered. "It was the last thing my eyes fell on; for, as I went through the door, I glanced back to see that I had left the table tidy. Susan can bear witness to that. Dutton, the police-sergeant, thinks some demon of mischief must be in that box--meaning the deuce, you know. Upon my word it looks like it." Susan came in with some glasses and ale as Miss Betty spoke, and confirmed the testimony--which did not need confirmation. As she closed the parlour-door, she said, after her mistress had passed out, she noticed the box standing on the table. "Is Sam here to-day--in the office?" asked Mr. Jacobson. "Oh, my goodness, no," cried Miss Betty in a fluster. "Why, Frederick, he has not been here since Thursday, when they had him up at the Guildhall. He couldn't well come while the charge is hanging over him." "Then I think we had better go out to find Sam, and hear what he has to say," observed Mr. Jacobson, drinking up his glass of ale. "Yes, do," said Miss Betty. "Tell poor Sam I'm as sorry as I can be--pestered almost out of my mind over it. And as to their having found one of the guineas in his pocket, please just mention to him that I say it might have slipped in accidentally." "One of the guineas found in Sam's pocket!" exclaimed Mr. Jacobson, taken aback. "Well, I hear so," responded Miss Betty. "The police searched him, you see." As the Squire and Mr. Jacobson went out, Mr. Cockermuth was coming in. They all turned into the office together, while we made a rush to Sam Dene's lodgings in Edgar Street: as much of a rush, at least, as the Saturday's streets would let us make. Sam was out, the young servant said when we got there, and while parleying with her Mrs. Parslet opened her sitting-room door. "I do not suppose Mr. Dene will be long," she said. "He has to appear at the town hall this morning, and I think it likely he will come home first. Will you walk in and wait?" She handed us into her parlour, where she had been busy, marking sheets and pillow-cases and towels with "prepared" ink; the table was covered with them. Tod began telling her that Mr. Jacobson was at Worcester, and went on to say what a shame it was that Sam Dene should be accused of this thing. "We consider it so," said Mrs. Parslet; who was a capable, pleasant-speaking woman, tall and slender. "My husband says it has upset Mr. Cockermuth more than anything that has occurred for years past. He tells his brother that he should have had it investigated privately, not have given Mr. Dene into custody." "Then why did he let him do it, Mrs. Parslet?"