“My father’s belt!” cried the boy passionately. “It has been stolen. It is not in the box.”
“Stop, stop, stop!” said the Doctor firmly. “You are speaking excitedly. My dear boy, be calm.”
“But it’s gone, sir!” cried Singh, with his eyes flashing now, as he looked from one to the other. “I tell you it’s been stolen.—Oh, Glyn, what will your father say? What shall I do?”
“Be calm,” repeated the Doctor slowly. “My dear boy, recollect that I stand to you, as we say in Latin, in loco parentis; and in the place of your guardian I must tell you that in your excitement you are making a very rash and cruel charge.”
“But, sir—” began Singh, with an imperious stamp of the foot.
“Stop!” cried the Doctor. “At my time of life I have learned a good deal of the weakness of human nature, and how prone we are to judge wrongfully, especially in a case like this. On several occasions I have known people to be suspected and charged with theft through the weakness of the accuser. Nothing is easier or more common than for money or a missing jewel or a book to be hastily looked upon as stolen when the one has been spent and forgotten, the others in the same way been placed elsewhere for security.”
“Yes, sir,” cried Glyn excitedly, “and I don’t want to go against Singh here; but I have known him do stupid things like that.—Look here, Singhy,” he continued hotly, “did you properly search the box?”
“Yes,” cried Singh. “When I found the case wasn’t there where I put it, I turned it upside down, and the contents are lying all over the floor.”
“And what about your drawers? Did you look in them?”
“You know I never kept it in my drawers,” cried Singh.