"He was knocked down," said Sylvia, quietly, "and his arm is broken. A
motor car ran over him in Gwynne Street. He wants to see you, to tell
you that he lost something."

Norman turned even whiter than he was by nature, and the perspiration
suddenly beaded his bald forehead. "The opal serpent!" he cried.

"Yes--the brooch he showed me."

"He showed you!" cried Aaron, with a groan. "And what did he tell you
about it?--what--what--what--the truth or--" He became passionate.

Debby grasped Aaron's arm and whirled him into the middle of the room
like a feather. Then she planted herself before Sylvia, with her arms
akimbo, and glared like a lioness. "You can pinch me, sir, or gives me
black eyes and red noses if you like, but no finger on my precious, if I
die for it."

Aaron was staggered by this defiance, and looked fierce for the moment.
Then he became timid again and cast the odd, anxious look over his
shoulder. "Leave the room, Deborah," he said in a mild voice.

The faithful maid replied by sitting down and folding her arms. "Get
your wild horses, sir," she said, breathing heavily, "for only by them
will I be tugged away." And she snorted so loudly that the room shook.

"Pshaw," said Norman, crossly, "Sylvia, don't be afraid of me." He wiped
his face nervously. "I only want to know of the brooch. I like the
opals--I wanted to buy it from Mr. Beecot. He is poor--he wants money. I
can give it to him, for--the--the brooch."

He brought out the last word with a gasp, and again glanced over his
shoulder. Sylvia, not at all afraid, approached and took the old man's
hand. The watchful Deborah moved her chair an inch nearer, so as to be
ready for any emergency. "Dear father," said the girl, "Mr. Beecot
doesn't know where the brooch is. It was stolen from him when the
accident happened. If you will see him he can tell you--"

"Not where the brooch is," interrupted Aaron, trying to appear calm.
"Well, well, it doesn't matter." He glanced anxiously at Sylvia. "You
believe me, child, when I say it doesn't matter."

A snort from Deborah plainly said that she had her doubts. Sylvia cast a
reproving glance in her direction, whereupon she rose and committed
perjury. "Of course it don't matter, sir," she said in a loud, hearty
voice which made Aaron wince. "My precious believes you, though lie it
might be. But folk so good as you, sir, who go to church when there
ain't anyone to see, wouldn't tell lies without them a-chok