it--"

"I'm against your asking Mrs. Driver here to my house to be got at," said
the farmer.

"O' course if you can find out who took the brooch, and get it back again
anyway, that's another matter."

Mr. Bodfish leaned over the table toward his niece.

"If I get an opportunity, I'll search her cottage," he said, in a low
voice. "Strictly speaking, it ain't quite a legal thing to do, o course,
but many o' the finest pieces of detective work have been done by
breaking the law. If she's a kleptomaniac, it's very likely lying about
somewhere in the house."

He eyed Mr. Negget closely, as though half expecting another outburst,
but none being forthcoming, sat back in his chair again and smoked in
silence, while Mrs. Negget, with a carpet-brush which almost spoke, swept
the pieces of dried mud from the stairs.

Mr. Negget was the last to go to bed that night, and finishing his pipe
over the dying fire, sat for some time in deep thought. He had from the
first raised objections to the presence of Mr. Bodfish at the farm, but
family affection, coupled with an idea of testamentary benefits, had so
wrought with his wife that he had allowed her to have her own way. Now
he half fancied that he saw a chance of getting rid of him. If he could
only enable the widow to catch him searching her house, it was highly
probable that the ex-constable would find the village somewhat too hot to
hold him. He gave his right leg a congratulatory slap as he thought of