"No, sir."
"Then who did?"
"The spy, sir."
"The spy!" Master Dean cried in bewilderment. "What do you mean by that?"
"Only that he did it, sir, and Sarah and I thought all the while it was Scip, until—until—"
"Until what?" the silversmith cried excitedly, and the other members of the company advanced toward Dorothy as if fearing they might not hear her reply distinctly.
"When we saw him in the best room, sir," the child said hesitatingly.
Master Dean was breathing heavily, interlocking his fingers in the effort to preserve some semblance of calmness. Master Lamb stood with his hand on the silversmith's shoulder, leaning over to look Dorothy in the face, while the two ladies appeared to be thoroughly alarmed.
"Well, well, you saw him in the best room? What then? What then? Speak quickly, child! Can't you see that we are being tortured by such suspense?"
Dorothy was no longer able to continue the story. With the skirt of her new gown to her eyes she was weeping violently, and Sarah, only a little less agitated, answered the question.
"Then we asked him in here, sir. He was an
