“What—­what’s the matter?” he said, hastily.

Mrs. Teak raised her voice to a pitch that set his teeth on edge.  “My money!” she wailed.  “It’s all gone!  All gone!”

“Money?” repeated Mr. Teak, hardly able to contain himself.  “What money?”

“All—­all my savings!” moaned his wife.  “Savings!” said the delighted Mr. Teak.  “What savings?”

“Money I have been putting by for our old age,” said his wife.  “Three hundred and twenty-two pounds.  All gone!”

In a fit of sudden generosity Mr. Teak decided then and there that Mr. Chase should have the odd twenty-two pounds.

“You’re dreaming!” he said, sternly.

“I wish I was,” said his wife, wiping her eyes.  “Three hundred and twenty-two pounds in empty mustard-tins.  Every ha’penny’s gone!”

Mr. Teak’s eye fell on the stove.  He stepped for ward and examined it.  The back was out, and Mrs. Teak, calling his attention to a tunnel at the side, implored him to put his arm in and satisfy himself that it was empty.

“But where could you get all that money from?” he demanded, after a prolonged groping.

“Sa—­sa—­saved it,” sobbed his wife, “for our old age.”

“Our old age?” repeated Mr. Teak, in lofty tones.  “And suppose I had died first?  Or suppose you had died sudden?  This is what comes of deceitfulness and keeping things from your husband.  Now somebody has stole it.”

Mrs. Teak bent her head and sobbed again.  “I—­I had just been out for —­for an hour,” she gasped.  “When I came back I fou—­fou—­found the washhouse window smashed, and—­”

Sobs choked her utterance.  Mr. Teak, lost in admiration of Mr. Chase’s cleverness, stood regarding her in silence.

“What—­what about the police?” said his wife at last.

“Police!” repeated Mr. Teak, with extraordinary vehemence.  “Police!  Certainly not.  D’ye think I’m going to let it be known all round that I’m the husband of a miser?  I’d sooner lose ten times the money.”

He stalked solemnly out of the room and downstairs, and, safe in the parlour, gave vent to his feelings in a wild but silent hornpipe.  He cannoned against the table at last, and, subsiding into an easy-chair, crammed his handkerchief to his mouth and gave way to suppressed mirth.

In his excitement he forgot all about tea, and the bereaved Mrs. Teak made no attempt to come downstairs to prepare it.  With his eye on the clock he waited with what patience he might for the arrival of Mr. Chase.  The usual hour for his return came and went.  Another hour passed; and another.  A horrible idea that Mr. Chase had been robbed gave way to one more horrible still.  He paced the room in dismay, until at nine o’clock his wife came down, and in a languid fashion began to set the supper-table.

“Alf’s very late,” said Mr. Teak, thickly.

“Is he?” said his wife, dully.