where can they be! This time they're gone!"

Nat could have told her--but what's the use? He felt she'd only
lose 'em again if she had 'em. So he let them lie snug in his
trousers pocket--where he had put the chamois bag, when his eyes
lit on it, under the corner of the carpet. He might have passed
it over to her then, but you see, Tom, she hadn't told him to
look for a bag; it was a key she wanted. Bell-boys are so stupid.

This time she followed his every step. He could not put his hand
on the smallest thing without rousing her suspicion. If he
hesitated, she scolded. If he hurried, she fumed. Most unjust, I
call it, because he had no thought of stealing--just then.

"Come," she said at last, "we'll go down and report it at the
desk."

"Hadn't I better wait here, ma'am, and look again?"

She looked sharply at him.

"No; you'd better do just as I tell you."

So down we went. And we met Mr. Moriway there. She'd telephoned
him. The chambermaid was called, the housekeeper, the electrical
engineer who'd been fixing bells that morning, and, as I said, a
bell-boy named Nat, who told how he'd just come on duty when Mrs.
Kingdon's bell rang, found her key and returned it to her, and
was out of the room when she unlocked the box. That was all he
knew.