bucket in the corner poured water on it, a process which silenced her.

"And," said Turrif, quietly speaking in French, "what then?"

"What then?" said Saul; "Then to-day I brought him in the cart."

"And buried him on the road, because he was heavy and useless, and let
some friend of yours play with the box?" continued Turrif, with an
insinuating smile.

Saul swore loudly that this was not the case, at which the men shrugged
their shoulders and looked at Trenholme.

To him the scene and the circumstances were very curious. The house into
which they had come was much smaller than Turrif's. The room was a
dismal one, with no sign of woman or child about it. Its atmosphere was
thick with the smoke of tobacco and the fumes of hot whisky, in which
Saul and his host had been indulging. A soft, homemade candle, guttering
on the table, shed a yellow smoky light upon the faces of the bearded
men who stood around it. Saul, perhaps from an awkward feeling of
trembling in his long legs, had resumed his seat, his little eyes more
beady, his little round cheeks more ruddy, than ever, his whiskers now
entirely disregarded in the importance of his self-vindication.

Too proud for asseveration, Trenholme had not much more to say. He
stated briefly that he could not be responsible for the contents of a
box when the contents had run away, nor for any harm that the runaway
might do to the neighbourhood, adding that the man who had consigned the
box to his care must now come and take it away.