“Mr.—­Bodfish!” he said at length, slowly.

Mr. Bodfish, incapable of speech, glared at him ferociously.

“Leave him alone,” said Mrs. Clowes, who was ministering to her friend.  “Can’t you see the man’s upset at frightening her?  She’s coming round, Mr. Bodfish; don’t be alarmed.”

“Very good,” said the farmer, who found his injured relative’s gaze somewhat trying.  “I’ll go, and leave him to explain to Mrs. Driver why he was hidden in her larder.  It don’t seem a proper thing to me.”

“Why, you silly man,” said Mrs. Clowes, gleefully, as she paused at the door, “that don’t want any explanation.  Now, Mr. Bodfish, we’re giving you your chance.  Mind you make the most of it, and don’t be too shy.”

She walked excitedly up the road with the farmer, and bidding him good-bye at the corner, went off hastily to spread the news.  Mr. Negget walked home soberly, and hardly staying long enough to listen to his wife’s account of the finding of the brooch between the chest of drawers and the wall, went off to spend the evening with a friend, and ended by making a night of it.