Mr. Bodfish had himself suggested it in the professional hope that the
person who had taken Mrs. Negget's gold brooch might try for further
loot. He had, indeed, suggested baiting the dressing-table with the
farmer's watch, an idea which Mr. Negget had promptly vetoed.

"I can't help thinking that Mrs. Pottle knows something about it," said
Mrs. Negget, with an indignant glance at her husband.

"Mrs. Pottle," said the farmer, rising slowly and taking a seat on the
oak settle built in the fireplace, "has been away from the village for
near a fortnit."

"I didn't say she took it," snapped his wife. "I said I believe she
knows something about it, and so I do. She's a horrid woman. Look at
the way she encouraged her girl Looey to run after that young traveller
from Smithson's. The whole fact of the matter is, it isn't your brooch,
so you don't care."

"I said--" began Mr. Negget.

"I know what you said," retorted his wife, sharply, "and I wish you'd be
quiet and not interrupt uncle. Here's my uncle been in the police
twenty-five years, and you won't let him put a word in edgeways.'

"My way o' looking at it," said the ex-policeman, slowly, "is different
to that o' the law; my idea is, an' always has been, that everybody is
guilty until they've proved their innocence."

"It's a wonderful thing to me," said Mr. Negget in a low voice to his
pipe, "as they should come to a house with a retired policeman living in