At eleven o’clock the next morning they were united in the bonds of wedlock; the landlord and the landlady of the public-house in which they had both served being the only witnesses present.  The children were not permitted to see the ceremony.  On leaving the church door, the married pair began their honeymoon by driving to St. John’s Wood.

A dirty printed notice, in a broken window, announced that the House was To Let; and a sour-tempered woman informed them that they were free to look at the rooms.

The bride was in the best of humors.  She set the bridegroom the example of keeping up appearances by examining the dilapidated house first.  This done, she said sweetly to the person in charge, “May we look at the garden?”

The woman made a strange answer to this request.  “That’s curious,” she said.

James interfered for the first time.  “What’s curious?” he asked roughly.

“Among all the idle people who have come here, at one time or another, to see this house.” the woman said, “only two have wanted to look at the garden.”

James turned on his heel, and made for the summer-house, leaving it to his wife to pursue the subject or not as she pleased.  She did pursue the subject.

“I am one of the persons, of course,” she said.  “Who is the other?”

“An old man came on Monday.”

The bride’s pleasant smile vanished.

“What sort of person was he?” she asked.

The sour-tempered woman became sourer than ever.

“Oh, how can I tell!  A brute.  There!”

“A brute!” The very words which the new Mrs. Bellbridge had herself used when the Expert had irritated her.  With serious misgivings, she, too, turned her steps in the direction of the garden.

James had already followed her instructions and used his chisel.  The plank lay loose on the floor.  With both his big hands he rapidly cleared away the mould and the rubbish.  In a few minutes the hiding-place was laid bare.

They looked into it.  They looked at each other.  There was the empty hole, telling its own story.  The diamonds were gone.

9.—­The Mother.

Mrs. Bellbridge eyed her husband, prepared for a furious outbreak of rage.  He stood silent, staring stupidly straight before him.  The shock that had fallen on his dull brain had stunned it.  For the time, he was a big idiot—­speechless, harmless, helpless.

She put back the rubbish, and replaced the plank, and picked up the chisel.  “Come, James,” she said; “pull yourself together.”  It was useless to speak to him.  She took his arm and led him out to the cab that was waiting at the door.

The driver, helping him to get in, noticed a piece of paper lying on the front seat.  Advertisements, seeking publicity under all possible circumstances, are occasionally sent flying into the open windows of vehicles.  The driver was about to throw the paper away, when Mrs. Bellbridge (seeing it on the other side) took it out of his hand.  “It isn’t print,” she said; “it’s writing.”  A closer examination showed that the writing was addressed to herself.  Her correspondent must have followed her to the church, as well as to the house in St. John’s Wood.  He distinguished her by the name which she had changed that morning, under the sanction of the clergy and the law.