“Yes, but you might have put it in one of them.”
“Shouldn’t I have remembered that I did?” snapped out the boy.
“You might,” replied Glyn quietly; “but I have put away things sometimes and forgotten where, and when I found them afterwards I have wondered how they got there.”
“Ex—actly, Mr Severn,” said the Doctor; “and so have I, especially in the case of books.”
“I am sure it’s been stolen,” cried Singh passionately.
“Well, I am sure you’re wrong,” said Glyn, “for there’s nobody here who could do such a thing, though you always were very stupid about your keys.”
“What’s that?” said the Doctor sharply.
“Oh, I have found his keys left in his box or drawers, sir, more than once.”
“Well,” cried Singh, in the same excited tone, and he literally glared at his companion, “suppose, when I was busy, sir, or in a hurry, I did leave them in the lock! Was I to think that some thief was waiting to go in and take that case away? Why, when my father was alive, if one of his people had done such a thing as steal anything he would have been given over to the guards, killed at once, and his body thrown into the river.”
“Ah, yes,” said the Doctor quietly. “But that was in India, my young friend, and matters are different here. Now, if you please,” he went on gravely, as he replaced the reading-glass in the drawer, “you will be good enough to smooth your countenance and hold your tongue. Have you told any one else of this?”