“Thief?” I cried, alarmed, and rushed to my bedroom. I threw out the contents of a drawer or two, and came back into the sitting-room, the picture of despair.
“Yes, thieves,” I said feebly, as I sank into a chair. “A diamond scarf-pin, a watch, a few hundred lire–all stolen.”
“Mio caro,” he cried hypocritically, seizing my hands.
“But how did you get into my closet?” I demanded.
“My dear Mr. Hume, do you think I walked in there?”
“I suppose not,” I answered dryly; “but I suppose you walked into my sitting-room?”
He was voluble in his excuses. He had come on a little errand. He must have fallen asleep. He remembered nothing till he was seized and bound and robbed.
“So they have robbed you, these thieves?” I asked indiscreetly.
“Yes; they have taken my keys,” and he looked at me keenly.
“Your keys!” I expostulated. “What would they do with your keys? You must have left them at home.”