“He never caused me a moment’s uneasiness,” she said, tenderly.  “I could trust him anywhere.”

[Illustration:  “Her friend gazed long and mournfully at a large photograph of Mr. Stobell.”]

Mrs. Chalk gazed thoughtfully at the portrait.  It was not a good likeness, but it was more like Mr. Stobell than anybody else in Binchester, a fact which had been of some use in allaying certain unworthy suspicions of Mr. Stobell the first time he saw it.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Chalk, significantly, “I should think you could.”

Mrs. Stobell, about to reply, caught the staring eye of the photograph, and, shaking her head sorrowfully, took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes.  Mrs. Chalk softened.

“They both had their faults,” she said, gently, “but they were great friends.  I dare say that it was a comfort to them to be together to the last.”

Captain Bowers himself began to lose hope at last, and went about in so moody a fashion that a shadow seemed to have fallen upon the cottage.  By tacit consent the treasure had long been a forbidden subject, and even when the news of Selina’s promissory note reached Dialstone Lane he had refused to discuss it.  It had nothing to do with him, he said, and he washed his hands of it—­a conclusion highly satisfactory to Miss Vickers, who had feared that she would have had to have dropped for a time her visits to Mr. Tasker.

A slight change in the household occurring at this time helped to divert the captain’s thoughts.  Mr. Tasker while chopping wood happened to chop his knee by mistake, and, as he did everything with great thoroughness, injured himself so badly that he had to be removed to his home.  He was taken away at ten in the morning, and at a quarter-past eleven Selina Vickers, in a large apron and her sleeves rolled up over her elbows, was blacking the kitchen stove and throwing occasional replies to the objecting captain over her shoulder.

“I promised Joseph,” she said, sharply, “and I don’t break my promises for nobody.  He was worrying about what you’d do all alone, and I told him I’d come.”

Captain Bowers looked at her helplessly.

“I can manage very well by myself,” he said, at last.

“Chop your leg off, I s’pose?” retorted Miss Vickers, good-temperedly.  “Oh, you men!”

“And I’m not at home much while Miss Drewitt is away,” added the captain.

“All the better,” said Miss Vickers, breathing noisily on the stove and polishing with renewed vigour.  “You won’t be in my way.”

The captain pulled himself together.

“You can finish what you’re doing,” he said, mildly,” and then—­”

“Yes, I know what to do,” interrupted Miss Vickers.  “You leave it to me.  Go in and sit down and make yourself comfortable.  You ought not to be in the kitchen at all by rights.  Not that I mind what people say—­I should have enough to do if I did—­but still—­”