"Why, man, the purser's key—the key of the strong room," he said impatiently.
I gazed in silence at him. "But you must have left it below," I said at last.
"Not I," he answered emphatically. "I'm no juggins. They're always on me. I go to bed in them, so to speak. See here." He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. "This is how I keep 'em—on my double chain. They don't leave me save at nights when I undress. Well, it's gone, and I'm damned if I know when it went or how it went."
He gazed, frowning deeply at his bunch.
"That's odd," I commented.
"It puts me in a hole," said he. "How the mischief can I have lost it? I can't think how it can have slipped off. And it's the only one gone, too."
"It didn't slip off," said I. "It's been stolen."
He looked at me queerly. "That makes it rather worse, old chap," he said hesitatingly. "For it don't go out of my hands."
"Save at night," said I.
He was silent. "Hang it, what does any blighter want to steal it for?" he demanded in perplexity.