“It were,” said Mr. Negget, promptly. “Lizzie made me get up just as the owd clock were striking twelve to get her a lozenge.” “It seems pretty certain that the brooch went since then,” mused Mr. Bodfish. “It would seem like it to a plain man,” said Mr. Negget, guardedly. “I should like to see the box,” said Mr. Bodfish. Mrs. Negget went up and fetched it and stood eyeing him eagerly as he raised the lid and inspected the contents. It contained only a few lozenges and some bone studs. Mr. Negget helped himself to a lozenge, and going back to his seat, breathed peppermint. “Properly speaking, that ought not to have been touched,” said the ex-constable, regarding him with some severity. “Eh!” said the startled farmer, putting his finger to his lips. “Never mind,” said the other, shaking his head. “It’s too late now.” “He doesn’t care a bit,” said Mrs. Negget, somewhat sadly. “He used to keep buttons in that box with the lozenges until one night he gave me one by mistake. Yes, you may laugh—I’m glad you can laugh.” Mr. Negget, feeling that his mirth was certainly ill-timed, shook for some time in a noble effort to control himself, and despairing at length, went into the back place to recover. Sounds of blows indicative of Emma slapping him on the back did not add to Mrs. Negget’s serenity. “The point is,” said the ex-constable, “could anybody have come into your room while you was asleep and taken it?” “No,” said Mrs. Negget, decisively. “I’m a very poor sleeper, and I’d have woke at once, but if a flock of elephants was to come in the room they wouldn’t wake George. He’d sleep through anything.” “Except her feeling under my piller for her handkerchief,” corroborated Mr. Negget, returning to the sitting-room. Mr. Bodfish waved them to silence, and again gave way to deep thought. Three times he took up his pencil, and laying it down again, sat and drummed on the table with his fingers. Then he arose, and with bent head walked slowly round and round the room until he stumbled over a stool. “Nobody came to the house this morning, I suppose?” he said at length, resuming his seat. “Only Mrs. Driver,” said his niece. “What time did she come?” inquired Mr. Bodfish. “Here! look here!” interposed Mr. Negget. “I’ve known Mrs. Driver thirty year a’most.” “What time did she come?” repeated the ex-constable, pitilessly. His niece shook her head. “It might have been eleven, and again it might have been earlier,” she replied. “I was out when she came.” “Out!” almost shouted the other. Mrs. Negget nodded. “She was sitting in here when I came back.” Her uncle looked up and glanced at the door behind which a small staircase led to the room above. “What was to prevent Mrs. Driver going up there while you were away?” he demanded.