other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed had gone mad with grief."
"What did Jem Spyers say?" inquired the doctor, who had returned to the room shortly after the commencement of the story.
"Jem Spyers," resumed the officer, "for a long time said nothing at all, and listened to every thing without seeming to, which showed he understood his business. But one morning he walked into the bar, and, taking out his snuff-box, said, 'Chickweed, I've found out who's done this here robbery.'—'Have you?' said Chickweed. 'Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me have wengeance, and I shall die contented! Oh, my dear Spyers, where is the villain?'—'Come!' said Spyers, offering him a pinch of snuff, 'none of that gammon! You did it yourself.' So he had, and a good bit of money he had made by it, too; and nobody would ever have found it out if he hadn't been so precious anxious to keep up appearances, that's more!" said Mr. Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking the handcuffs together.
