“Just fancy,” said Major Thatcher. Then there was a pause, and he added: “How tiresome!”
I could think of nothing more to say, and again we were silent. It was really the most uncomfortable position I ever was in. The major was a burglar beyond a doubt, but he looked and talked just like a gentleman; besides, he’d dined with us. That makes a great difference. When a man has broken bread at your table as a respectable fellow creature, it’s hard to get your mind round to regarding him severely as a criminal. I felt that the only thing to do was to graciously ignore it all, as you do when some one spills the claret on your best table-cloth. At the same time, there were the diamonds! I could not let the chance escape.
“Oh, Major Thatcher!” I said, with an air of suddenly remembering something. “I don’t know whether you know that your wife left a little package here that evening when you dined with us. It was for Amelia.”
Major Thatcher looked at me with the most heavily solemn expression.
“To be sure,” he murmured, “for Amelia.”
“Well,” I went on, trying to impart to my words a light society tone, “you know we can’t find her. Very stupid of us, I have no doubt. But we’ve tried, and we can’t, anywhere.”
Major Thatcher stared blankly at the dressing-table.
“Strange, ’pon my word!” he said.
“So, Major Thatcher, if you don’t mind, I’ll give it back to you. I think, all things considered, it will be best for you to give it to Amelia yourself.”
I went toward the dressing-table.