FullReads

“What are you laughing at me for?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” said his wife.

She went back into the kitchen and sang blithely as she bustled over the preparations for tea. Her voice was feeble, but there was a triumphant effectiveness about the high notes which perplexed the listener sorely. He seated himself in the new easy-chair—procured to satisfy the supposed aesthetic tastes of Miss Robinson—and stared at the window.

“You seem very happy all of a sudden,” he growled, as his wife came in with the tray.

“Well, why shouldn’t I be?” inquired Mrs. Jobling. “I’ve got everything to make me so. ”

Mr. Jobling looked at her in undisguised amazement.

“New easy-chair, new vases, and a new hearthrug,” explained his wife, looking round the room. “Did you order that little table you said you would?”

“Yes,” growled Mr. Jobling.

“Pay for it?” inquired his wife, with a trace of anxiety.

“Yes,” said Mr. Jobling again.

Mrs. Jobling’s face relaxed. “I shouldn’t like to lose it at the last moment,” she said. “You ‘ave been good to me lately, Bill; buying all these nice things. There’s not many women have got such a thoughtful husband as what I have. ”

“Have you gone dotty? or what?” inquired her bewildered husband.

“It’s no wonder people like you,” pursued Mrs. Jobling, ignoring the question, and smiling again as she placed three chairs at the table. “I’ll wait a minute or two before I soak the tea; I expect Miss Robinson won’t be long, and she likes it fresh. ”

Mr. Jobling, to conceal his amazement and to obtain a little fresh air walked out of the room and opened the front door.

“Cheer oh!” said the watchful Mr. Brown, with a benignant smile.

Mr. Jobling scowled at him.

“It’s all right,” said Mr. Brown. “You go in and set down; I’m watching for her. ”

He nodded reassuringly, and, not having curiosity enough to accept the other’s offer and step across the road and see what he would get, shaded his eyes with his hand and looked with exaggerated anxiety up the road. Mr. Jobling, heavy of brow, returned to the parlor and looked hard at his wife.

“She’s late,” said Mrs. Jobling, glancing at the clock. “I do hope she’s all right, but I should feel anxious about her if she was my gal. It’s a dangerous life. ”

“Dangerous life!” said Mr. Jobling, roughly. “What’s a dangerous life?”

“Why, hers,” replied his wife, with a nervous smile. “Joe Brown told me. He followed her ‘ome last night, and this morning he found out all about her. ”

The mention of Mr. Brown’s name caused Mr. Jobling at first to assume an air of indifference; but curiosity overpowered him.

“What lies has he been telling?” he demanded.

“I don’t think it’s a lie, Bill,” said his wife, mildly. “Putting two and two—”

“What did he say?” cried Mr. Jobling, raising his voice.

“He said, ‘She—she’s a lady detective,’“ stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handkerchief to her unruly mouth.

“A tec!” repeated her husband. “A lady tec?”

Mrs. Jobling nodded. “Yes, Bill. She—she—she—”

“Well?” said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation.

“She’s being employed by Gingell and Watson,” said his wife.

Mr. Jobling sprang to his feet, and with scarlet face and clinched fists strove to assimilate the information and all its meaning.

“What—what did she come here for? Do you mean to tell me she thinks Itook the money?” he said, huskily, after a long pause.

Mrs. Jobling bent before the storm. “I think she took a fancy to you, Bill,” she said, timidly.

Mr. Jobling appeared to swallow something; then he took a step nearer to her. “You let me see you laugh again, that’s all,” he said, fiercely. “As for that Jezzybill—”