Now, however, she began to wish with all her heart that she had not undertaken this responsibility, perceiving that she might have involved herself in a serious difficulty.
Quickly and in silence she followed Sir Robert, who opened the door of the gallery with his own key, turned on the electric light, and led the way to the end, where, in a glass-covered specimen table, it was his habit to keep about a dozen old snuff-boxes of exquisite workmanship, the aggregate value of which was some thousands of pounds.
He stopped short in front of the table, and Rhoda looked down at it. One, two, three of the treasures were missing, and the choice had been a most judicious one, for the three boxes which had disappeared were all of gold, all painted by celebrated artists, and all mounted with jewels.
“You see the three have gone,” said he, while Rhoda stood beside him, unable to utter a word. “And the rest have been so carefully arranged that they look, at first sight, as if none were missing.”
“They’ve been stolen,” said Rhoda hoarsely.
“That’s what I think. Now the question is when, how, and by whom? In the first place whose keys have been got hold of—yours or mine? Mine have never been out of my pocket or my hand all day. What about yours?”
Rhoda uttered a low cry.
“I left them in my room, in the pocket of the dress I wore this morning, when I changed it for this one to go to the flower show,” she answered, brokenly.
“Some one has perhaps got at them. Would you mind going up to see whether they are still in the pocket of your dress?”
His tone was just as kind and gentle as ever; but to Rhoda, who was suffering an agony of mortification at what she thought he must consider her carelessness, fled along the gallery without a word. But his kind voice checked her before she reached the door. He was calling to her quite gently: