The door opened, and Bessie appeared on the threshold.

At sight of her John seemed to lose his senses. He rushed at her,
threatening, imploring, reviling--while Mary Anne could only cling to
his arms and coat, lest he should attempt some bodily mischief.

Bessie closed the door, leant against it, and folded her arms. She was
white and haggard, but perfectly cool. In this moment of excitement it
struck neither John nor Mary Anne--nor, indeed, herself--that her
manner, with its brutality, and its poorly feigned surprise, was the
most revealing element in the situation.

'What's all this about yer money?' she said, staring John in the face.
'What do I know about yer money? 'Ow dare yer say such things? I 'aven't
anythin to do with it, an never 'ad.'

He raved at her, in reply, about the position in which he had found the
box--on the top of its fellow instead of underneath, where he had placed
it--about the broken lock, the sovereigns she had been changing, and the
things Watson had said of her--winding up with a peremptory demand for
his money.

'Yo gi me my money back,' he said, holding out a shaking hand. 'Yer
can't 'ave spent it all--tain't possible--an yer ain't chucked it out o'
winder. Yer've got it somewhere 'idden, an I'll get it out o' you if I
die for 't!'

Bessie surveyed him steadily. She had not even flinched at the mention
of the sovereigns.