I looked round at Mr., Mrs., and Miss Greene, and saw that they were all looking at me. I looked round at them, and as their eyes met mine I felt that I turned as red as fire. I immediately jumped up and rushed away to my own room, hearing as I went that all their steps were following me. I rushed to the inner recess, pulled down the portmanteau, which still remained in its old place, tore away my own carpet rug which covered the support beneath it, and there saw——a white canvas-covered box, with a hole in the canvas on the side next to me!
“It is my box,” said Mrs. Greene, pushing me away, as she hurried up and put her finger within the rent.
“It certainly does look like it,” said Mr. Greene, peering over his wife’s shoulder.
“There’s no doubt about the box,” said Sophonisba.
“Not the least in life,” said I, trying to assume an indifferent look.
“Mon Dieu!” said the Boots.
“Corpo di Baccho!” exclaimed the landlord, who had now joined the party.
“Oh—h—h—h—!” screamed Mrs. Greene, and then she threw herself back on to my bed, and shrieked hysterically.
There was no doubt whatsoever about the fact. There was the lost box, and there it had been during all those tedious hours of unavailing search. While I was suffering all that fatigue in Milan, spending my precious zwanzigers in driving about from one hotel to another, the box had been safe, standing in my own room at Bellaggio, hidden by my own rug. And now that it was found everybody looked at me as though it were all my fault. Mrs. Greene’s eyes, when she had done being hysterical, were terrible, and Sophonisba looked at me as though I were a convicted thief.
“Who put the box here?” I said, turning fiercely upon the Boots.