MRS. CHINNERY received the news of her brother’s marriage with a calmness that was a source of considerable disappointment and annoyance to her friends and neighbours. To begin with, nobody knew how it had reached her, and several worthy souls who had hastened to her, hot-foot, with what they had fondly deemed to be exclusive information had some difficulty in repressing their annoyance. Their astonishment was increased a week later on learning that she had taken a year’s lease of No. 9, Tranquil Vale, which had just become vacant, and several men had to lie awake half the night listening to conjectures as to where she had got the money. Most of the furniture at No. 5 was her own, and she moved it in piecemeal. Captain Sellers, who had his own ideas as to why she was coming to live next door to him, and was somewhat flattered in consequence, volunteered to assist, and, being debarred by deafness from learning that his services were refused, caused intense excitement by getting wedged under a dressing-table on the stairs. To inquiries as to how he got there, the captain gave but brief replies, and those of an extremely sailorly description, the whole of his really remarkable powers being devoted for the time being to the question of how he was to get out. He was released at length by a man and a saw, and Mrs. Chinnery, as soon as she could speak, gave him a pressing invitation to take home with him any particular piece of the table for which he might have a fancy. He was back next morning with a glue-pot, and divided his time between boiling it up on the kitchen stove and wandering about the house in search of things to stick. Its unaccountable disappearance during his absence in another room did much to mar the harmony of an otherwise perfect day. First of all he searched the house from top to bottom; then, screwing up his features, he beckoned quietly to Mrs. Chinnery. “I hadn’t left it ten seconds,” he said, mysteriously. “I went into the front room for a bit of stick, and when I went back it had gone—vanished. I was never more surprised in my life.” “Don’t bother me,” said Mrs. Chinnery. “I’ve got enough to do.” “Eh?” Mrs. Chinnery, who was hot and flustered, shook her head at him. “It’s a very odd thing,” said Captain Sellers, shaking his head. “I never lost a glue-pot before in my life—never. Do you know anything about that charwoman that’s helping you?” “Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Chinnery. The captain put his hand to his ear. “YES, OF COURSE.” “I don’t like her expression,” said Captain Sellers, firmly. “I’m a very good judge of faces, and there’s a look, an artful look, about her eyes that I don’t like. It’s my belief she’s got my glue-pot stowed about her somewhere; and I’m going to search her.” “You get out of my house,” cried the overwrought Mrs. Chinnery. “Not without my glue-pot,” said Captain Sellers, hearing for once. “Take that woman upstairs and search her. A glue-pot—a hot glue-pot—can’t go without hands.”