“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.
“I did,” said the Boots, “by Monsieur’s express order.”
“By my order?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly,” said the Boots.