He sat down and finished his porridge with evident zest and appetite, while we turned over every article in the little den of a house. The place had not been disturbed so much for many a day. Morley’s wife seemed much more distressed at the charge than he, and assisted us with the greatest eagerness and anxious concern. We found no trace of the notes, and Morley’s manner convinced me that they were not in the house. He was too cool and careless. Had they been hidden there—however securely or effectively—he could not have concealed some perturbation when we came near the spot or grew “hot” in our little game of “hide and seek.” Just once did I notice anything like a change in his expression of face. When we had turned over everything in the house, I chanced to say to Mrs Morley— “These are all the things you have, I suppose?” “Oh, yes, sir,” she earnestly answered. “Since John rackit himsel’ we’ve had to make shift with less and less.” While she thus spoke, I saw her eye run round the room as if in search of something; then she began poking about with the aid of one of our lanterns, and finally she turned to her husband and said in a kind of whisper— “Where’s the famil——” She did not get the sentence finished, nor even enough of it to be intelligible to me. Morley was standing close to her, and whether he kicked her on the leg, or trod on her toe, or merely gave her a look, I cannot tell, but he checked her speech most suddenly and effectually. I just saw enough and heard enough to make me suspicious, for the den was dark, and I was not expecting the words so unguardedly uttered by the wife. The last word sounded to me like “fummel,” and I racked my brains for many an hour after to discover what on earth a “fummel” was. I had no doubt at all _now_ of Morley’s guilt, and, of course, I could have arrested him; but what good would that have done? There was no evidence whatever to support the charge, and likely to be none with Morley locked up in prison. Besides, I now felt tolerably certain that the notes were not destroyed, but concealed in the “fummel”—whatever that meant. I wanted badly to find that “fummel,” and reasoned that I was more likely to do so with Morley moving about in freedom than with him cooped up in prison. The secret of the hiding-place was known to Morley alone; that was quite evident to me from the eagerness of the wife to assist me, and help to prove her husband’s innocence, and also by the simplicity with which she had let out the remark about the “fummel.” I determined to draw off my men, with so many apologies that Morley should think himself quite safe from further trouble or suspicion. To confirm this impression, I directed his master to take no further notice of the matter, and to keep him in his employment as usual, which was done.