‘Bless the man!’ said Mr Pinsent.  ’Do you suppose I’d do this for a joke?’

I don’t know,’ responded Mr Garraway, with guarded candour.  ’I feared it.  But, of course, if they’ve stolen your pigeons, ’tis another matter.  A very serious matter, as you say, and no doubt your being mayor makes it all the worse.’

Now this attitude of Mr Garraway conveyed a hint of warning, had Mr Pinsent been able to seize it.  The inhabitants of Troy have, in fact, a sense of humour, but it does not include facetiousness.  On the contrary, facetiousness affronts and pains them.  They do not understand it, and Mr Pinsent understood nothing else.  Could he have been told that for close upon twenty years he had been afflicting his neighbours with the pleasantries he found so enjoyable, his answer had undoubtedly been ‘The bigger numskulls they!’ But now his doom was upon him.

He ate his breakfast that morning in silence.  Mrs Salt, burning to discuss the robbery, set down the dishes with a quite unnecessary clatter, but in vain.  He scarcely raised his head.

‘Indeed, sir, and I’ve never known you so upset,’ she broke out at length, unable to contain herself longer.  ’Which I’ve always said that you was wonderful, the way you saw the bright side of everything and could pass it off with a laugh.’

‘Good Lord!’ said Mr Pinsent testily.  ’Did I ever call midnight robbery a laughing matter?’

‘No—­o,’ answered Mrs Salt, yet as one not altogether sure.  ‘And I dare say your bein’ mayor makes you take a serious view.’

Breakfast over, the mayor took hat and walking-stick for his customary morning stroll along the street to Butcher Trengrove’s to choose the joint for his dinner and pick up the town’s earliest gossip.  It is Troy’s briskest hour; when the dairy carts, rattling homeward, meet the country folk from up-the-river who have just landed at the quays and begun to sell from door to door their poultry and fresh eggs, vegetables, fruit, and nosegays of garden flowers; when the tradesmen, having taken down their shutters, stand in the roadway, admire the effect of their shop-windows and admonish the apprentices cleaning the panes; when the children loiter and play at hop-scotch on their way to school, and the housewives, having packed them off, find time for neighbourly clack over the scouring of door-steps.

It might be the mayor’s fancy and no more, but it certainly appeared to him that the children smiled with a touch of mockery as they met him and saluted.  For aught he knew any one of these grinning imps—­ confound ’em!—­might be implicated in the plot.  The townsmen gave him ‘good-morning’ as usual, and yet not quite as usual.  He felt that news of the raid had won abroad; that, although shy of speaking, they were studying his face for a sign.  He kept it carefully cheerful; but came near to losing his temper when he reached Trengrove’s shop to find Mr Garraway already there and in earnest conversation with the butcher.