THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs
BOOK 5
CUPBOARD LOVE
In the comfortable living-room at Negget's farm, half parlour and halfkitchen, three people sat at tea in the waning light of a Novemberafternoon. Conversation, which had been brisk, had languished somewhat,owing to Mrs. Negget glancing at frequent intervals toward the door,behind which she was convinced the servant was listening, and checkingthe finest periods and the most startling suggestions with a warning'ssh!
"Go on, uncle," she said, after one of these interruptions.
"I forget where I was," said Mr. Martin Bodfish, shortly.
"Under our bed," Mr. Negget reminded him.
"Yes, watching," said Mrs. Negget, eagerly.
It was an odd place for an ex-policeman, especially as a small legacyadded to his pension had considerably improved his social position, butMr. Bodfish had himself suggested it in the professional hope that theperson who had taken Mrs. Negget's gold brooch might try for furtherloot. He had, indeed, suggested baiting the dressing-table with thefarmer's watch, an idea which Mr. Negget had promptly vetoed.
"I can't help thinking that Mrs. Pottle knows something about it," saidMrs. Negget, with an indignant glance at her husband.
"Mrs. Pottle," said the farmer, rising slowly and taking a seat on theoak settle built in the fireplace, "has been away from the village fornear a fortnit."
"I didn't say she took it," snapped his wife. "I said I believe sheknows something about it, and so I do. She's a horrid woman. Look atthe way she encouraged her girl Looey to run after that young travellerfrom Smithson's. The whole fact of the matter is, it isn't your brooch,so you don't care."
"I said—" began Mr. Negget.
"I know what you said," retorted his wife, sharply, "and I wish you'd bequiet and not interrupt uncle. Here's my uncle been in the policetwenty-five years, and you won't let him put a word in edgeways.'
"My way o' looking at it," said the ex-policeman, slowly, "is differentto that o' the law; my idea is, an' always has been, that everybody isguilty until they've proved their innocence."
"It's a wonderful thing to me," said Mr. Negget in a low voice to hispipe, "as they should come to a house with a retired policeman living init. Looks to me like somebody that ain't got much respect for thepolice."
The ex-policeman got up from the table, and taking a seat on the settleopposite the speaker, slowly filled a long clay and took a spill from thefireplace. His pipe lit, he turned to his niece, and slowly bade her goover the account of her loss once more.
"I missed it this morning," said Mrs. Negget, rapidly, "at ten minutespast twelve o'clock by the clock, and h