Ralph went to his wardrobe, put his hand on the shelf and took out the watch and chain.
“Isn’t it a beau——” Ralph started to say when a look of blank amazement spread over his face.
“Why, why,” he feebly said, “this isn’t my watch, Bollup, why, why—it’s yours—why, I don’t understand this; why, Bollup, my uncle sent me a watch. I received it at eleven o’clock this morning; at four o’clock, just before I went to drill, I put it in my wardrobe—this is your watch, Bollup.”
“I should say it was, Osborn; it’s been mine for a couple of years. Now look here, Osborn, there’s a thief in this Academy, and it’s up to you to explain how you got this watch.” And Bollup looked keenly at Ralph.
“Bollup, you know as much as I do as to how I came in possession of your watch.”
“Well, I’d like to know something more about the story of the watch sent you by your uncle.”
“I most certainly shall insist upon everybody knowing about that,” said Ralph. “The watch came by registered mail this morning, and with it a letter from my Uncle George telling me he was sending it to me.”
“Of course you haven’t torn up the letter?” questioned Bollup in a sneering tone.
“I have not. The letter is in my table drawer; I’ll show it to you.” And Ralph drew open the drawer.
The letter was nowhere to be found.