ng about these thieves more than you
like to tell me."

"I was thinking just then, that if they were to come and take all the
silver it wouldn't do much harm. We should have to buy German plate,
and nobody would know the difference."

"Suppose they murdered us all?"

"They never do that now. The profession is different from what it
used to be. They only go where they know they can find a certain
amount of spoil, and where they can get it without much danger. I
don't think housebreakers ever cut throats in these days. They're too
fond of their own." Then they both agreed that if these rumours of
housebreakings were continued, they would send away the plate some
day to be locked up in safe keeping at Salisbury. After that they
went to bed.

On the next morning, the Sunday morning, at a few minutes before
seven, the parson was awakened by his groom at his bedroom door.

"What is it, Roger?" he asked.

"For the love of God, sir, get up! They've been and murdered Mr.
Trumbull."

Mrs. Fenwick, who heard the tidings, screamed; and Mr. Fenwick was
out of bed and into his trousers in half a minute. In another half
minute Mrs. Fenwick, clothed in her dressing-gown, was up-stairs
among her children. No doubt she thought that as soon as the poor
farmer had been despatched, the murderers would naturally pass on
into her nursery. Mr. Fenwick did not believe the tidings. If a man
be hurt in the hunting-field, it is always said that he's killed.
If the kitchen flue be on fire, it is always said that the house is
burned down. Something, however, had probably happened at Farmer
Trumbull's; and down went the parson across the garden and orchard,
and through the churchyard, as quick as his legs would carry him.
In the farmyard he found quite a crowd of men, including the two
constables and three or four of the leading tradesmen in the village.
The first thing that he saw was the dead body of Bone'm, the dog. He
was stiff and stark, and had been poisoned.

"How's Mr. Trumbull?" he asked, of the nearest by-stander.

"Laws, parson, ain't ye heard?" said the man. "They've knocked his
skull open with a hammer, and he's as dead--as dead."

Hearing this, the parson turned round, and made his way into the
house. There was not a doubt about it. The farmer had been murdered
during the night, and his money carried off. Upstairs Mr. Fenwick
made his way to the farmer's bedroom, and there lay the body. Mr.
Crittenden, the village doctor,