“Suspicious,” said James Harthouse, “certainly.”

“I think so, sir,” said Bounderby, with a defiant nod. “I think so. But there are more of ’em in it. There’s an old woman. One never hears of these things till the mischief’s done; all sorts of defects are found out in the stable door after the horse is stolen; there’s an old woman turns up now. An old woman who seems to have been flying into town on a broomstick, every now and then. She watches the place a whole day before this fellow begins, and on the night when you saw him, she steals away with him and holds a council with him⁠—I suppose, to make her report on going off duty, and be damned to her.”

There was such a person in the room that night, and she shrunk from observation, thought Louisa.