Thus refusing Lucius’s proffered aid, Jacob Wincher put on his hat and went out. Lucius went into the room which contained the chief part of Mr. Sivewright’s collection, and waited there with the door open until Mr. Wincher’s good lady should make her appearance, ready for departure. He looked round at the chaotic mass of property wonderingly. How much had been plundered? The shabby old glass cases of china seemed full enough, yet who could tell how they had been thinned by the dexterous hand of one who knew the exact value of each separate object? It seemed hard that the fruit of Homer Sivewright’s toil should have been thus lessened; it seemed strange that he, who was a professed cynic, should have so entirely trusted his old servant, only to be victimised by him at last. Mrs. Wincher made her appearance, after an interval of about half an hour, laden with three bundles of various shapes and sizes, but all of the limpest description, two bandboxes, an ancient and dilapidated umbrella, a small collection of hardware in a hamper without a lid, a faded Paisley shawl across her arm, a bottle-green cloth cloak of antediluvian shape and style, and sundry small oddments in the way of pattens, a brown-crockery teapot, a paste-board, and a pepperbox. ‘They’re our few little comforts, sir,’ she said apologetically, as divers of these minor objects slid from her grasp and rolled upon the stone floor of the hall. ‘I suppose if we was sent to Newgate as pisoners we shouldn’t be allowed to have ’em; but as there’s no crime brought against us _yet_’—with profoundest irony—‘I’ve took the liberty to bring ’em. Perhaps you’d like to look through my bundles, Dr. Davory, to make sure as there’s none of the bricklebrack hidden amongst my good gentleman’s wardrobe.’ ‘No, thank you, Mrs. Wincher. I won’t trouble you to open your bundles,’ answered Lucius, whose keen eye had taken note of the manner of goods contained in those flabby envelopes. Thus absolved from the necessity of exhibiting these treasures, Mrs. Wincher built them up in a neat pyramid by the side of the hall-door, with infinite pains, as if the monument were intended to be permanent, and then seated herself meekly on the lowest step of the staircase. ‘I suppose as there’s no objections to my resting my pore feet a bit, Dr. Davory,’ she said plaintively, ‘though me and my good gentleman is dismissed.’ ‘You are quite at liberty to rest yourself, Mrs. Wincher,’ replied Lucius. ‘But I don’t mean to take my eye off you till you’re out of this house,’ he added mentally.