Her large trunks were lying in the hall; these, having been registered, were not opened, but marked with the Austrian custom-house stamp, as allowed to pass the frontier unmolested.
“Have you any bags or small luggage besides, madame?” asked an officer who had been turning over Róza’s bag, and undoing the bundle of rugs and umbrellas she had placed on the counter.
“Yes! I have a valise and a dressing-bag. Róza,” she said, “open them; here are the keys.”
“I was not carrying madame’s valise or her dressing-bag,” said the maid; “the customs officer was carrying them; I don’t see the things just at this moment; he must have put them down somewhere.”
“Find them at once. You had no right to let anyone touch them; you know I never allow anyone to carry my bag but yourself.”
Madame Demidoff found it difficult to control her agitation, and Róza peered anxiously round, trying to recognise the official who had charge of the precious bags.
“Did you say a customs official was carrying the things?” asked a porter, seeing the girl’s distress; “it is such an unlikely thing for any of them to do, they are all too busy in here.”
“He is not here at this moment,” said Róza; “it was a young man with a long, brown beard and curly hair; he was in uniform.”
“Every one of the officials connected with the custom-house is in the room at this moment, miss; I have known them all for years, not one is missing. I am beginning to be afraid you have been tricked by one of these clever robbers, who have done a deal of mischief before now at these customs stations; you see it is so easy to rob people here, especially ladies, as——”
“Róza,” gasped Madame Demidoff, who had overheard the man’s last words, and now felt sick with terror, “look again! you must have been mistaken.… Where is my valise?… You are responsible for my valise.… I shall accuse you of theft, unless you find my valise.… I shall——”