He held up the light inside the carriage, and Sir George, the crowd pressing forward to look over his shoulder, saw that it was as the man said. Sir George saw something more--and pounced on it greedily. At the foot of the doorway, between the floor of the carriage and the straw mat that covered it, the corner of a black silk kerchief showed. How it came to be in that position, whether it had been kicked thither by accident or thrust under the mat on purpose, it was impossible to say. But there it was, and as Sir George held it up to the lanthorn--jealously interposing himself between it and the curious eyes of the crowd--he felt something hard inside the folds and saw that the corners were knotted. He uttered an exclamation. 'More room, good people, more room!' he cried. 'Your honour ha' got something?' said the smith; and then to the crowd, 'Here, you--keep back, will you?' he continued, 'and give the gentleman room to breathe. Or will you ha' the constable fetched?' 'I be here!' cried a weakly voice from the skirts of the crowd. 'Ay, so be Easter,' the smith retorted gruffly, as a puny atomy of a man with a stick and lanthorn was pushed with difficulty to the front. 'But so being you are here, supposing you put Joe Hincks a foot or two back, and let the gentleman have elbow-room.' There was a laugh at this, for Joe Hincks was a giant a little taller than the smith. None the less, the hint had the desired effect. The crowd fell back a little. Meanwhile, Sir George, the general attention diverted from him, had untied the knot. When the smith turned to him again, it was to find him staring with a blank face at a plain black snuff-box, which was all he had found in the kerchief. 'Sakes!' cried the smith, 'whose is that?' 'I don't know,' Sir George answered grimly, and shot a glance of suspicion at Mr. Dunborough, who was leaning against the fore-wheel. But that gentleman shrugged his shoulders. 'You need not look at me,' he said. 'It is not my box; I have mine here.' 'Whose is it?' Mr. Dunborough raised his eyebrows and did not answer. 'Do you know?' Sir George persisted fiercely. 'No, I don't. I know no more about it than you do.' 'Maybe the lady took snuff?' the smith said cautiously. Many ladies did, but not this one; and Sir George sniffed his contempt. He turned the box over and over in his hand. It was a plain, black box, of smooth enamel, about two inches long. 'I believe I have seen one like it,' said Mr. Dunborough, yawning. 'But I'm hanged if I can tell where.' 'Has your honour looked inside?' the smith asked. 'Maybe there is a note in it.' Sir George cut him short with an exclamation, and held the box up to the light. 'There is something scratched on it,' he said.