“Yes,” said Mrs. Teak.

Mr. Chase gave Mr. Teak a glance the pathos of which even the soot could not conceal.  “When I—­I heard a pore little bird struggling in your chimbley,” he continued, with a sigh of relief.  “Being fond of animals, I took the liberty of comin’ into your room and saving its life.”

Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endeavoured in vain to render noiseless.

“It got its pore little foot caught in the brickwork,” continued the veracious Mr. Chase, tenderly.  “I released it, and it flowed—­I mean flew—­up the chimbley.”

With the shamefaced air of a man detected in the performance of a noble action, he passed out of the room.  Husband and wife eyed each other.

“That’s Alf—­that’s Alf all over,” said Mr. Teak, with enthusiasm.  “He’s been like it from a child.  He’s the sort of man that ’ud dive off Waterloo Bridge to save the life of a drownding sparrow.”

“He’s made an awful mess,” said his wife, frowning; “it’ll take me the rest of the day to clean up.  There’s soot everywhere.  The rug is quite spoilt.”

She took off her hat and jacket and prepared for the fray.  Down below Messrs. Teak and Chase, comparing notes, sought, with much warmth, to put the blame on the right shoulders.

“Well, it ain’t there,” said Mr. Chase, finally.  “I’ve made sure of that.  That’s something towards it.  I shan’t ’ave to look there again, thank goodness.”

Mr. Teak sniffed.  “Got any more ideas?” he queried.

“I have,” said the other sternly.  “There’s plenty of places to search yet.  I’ve only just begun.  Get her out as much as you can and I’ll ’ave my hands on it afore you can say—­”

“Soot?” suggested Mr. Teak, sourly.

“Any more of your nasty snacks and I chuck it up altogether,” said Mr. Chase, heatedly.  “If I wasn’t hard up I’d drop it now.”

He went up to his room in dudgeon, and for the next few days Mr. Teak saw but little of him.  To, lure Mrs. Teak out was almost as difficult as to persuade a snail to leave its shell, but he succeeded on two or three occasions, and each time she added something to her wardrobe.

The assistant fortune-hunter had been in residence just a month when Mr. Teak, returning home one afternoon, stood in the small passage listening to a suppressed wailing noise proceeding from upstairs.  It was so creepy that half-way up he hesitated, and, in a stern but trembling voice, demanded to know what his wife meant by it.  A louder wail than before was the only reply, and, summoning up his courage, he pushed open the door of the bedroom and peeped in.  His gaze fell on Mrs. Teak, who was sitting on the hearth-rug, rocking to and fro in front of a dismantled fire-place.

“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!”