"What?" snapped Sir Humphrey, letting the evening paper fall. "Here?"
"Oh yes, sir! At least it does seem so. It's Mr. Amberley's bedroom, sir. It give me such a turn, I feel quite bad."
Amberley regarded her with unimpaired calm. "What happened?" he inquired.
Her story was somewhat involved, and embellished with a great deal of irrelevant detail, but it seemed that she had gone upstairs at nine o'clock to turn down the beds and found that Mr. Amberley's room had been ransacked. Every drawer was pulled out and the contents strewn on the floor; the little desk in the window had been burst open and the papers all scattered about; his suitcases wrenched open; and a leather attache-case in which he might be supposed to keep private papers, with the lock torn off. Even the bed had been disarranged, while as for the suits in the wardrobe, never had she seen anything to equal it.
She paused for breath; and Sir Humphrey, fixing his nephew with a smouldering eye, said that he had had enough.
Lady Matthews murmured: "Better tidy it, Molly. Did he find anything, Frank?"
Amberley shook his head. "Quite bright of him to suspect me, but not so bright to think I should leave it lying about in my room. So he thinks I've got it. That's illuminating anyhow."
"How fortunate, dear! So glad. Why, by the way?"
"At least it means that it hasn't fallen into the wrong hands," said Amberley, smiling at her.
"Delightful, my dear. Don't fuss, Humphrey. Nothing to do with us."