“Why, there’s not a dollar—not a sou—in this box!” roared Henry Tremaine. “Yesterday, there was ten thousand dollars in it!”
His excited exclamations brought the other passengers to the doorway.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” inquired Mrs. Tremaine.
“Why,” exclaimed her husband, bewilderedly, “I appear to be out ten thousand dollars. The money was in this box yesterday afternoon.”
“Robbed?” gasped Mrs. Tremaine.
“So it would seem,” retorted her husband, dryly. “And—Jupiter! From the way my head feels, I’ve been drugged, too! Of course the thief had to drug me, in order to be sure that I wouldn’t wake up when he came in during the night.”
“Who has had access to this cabin while we slept?” demanded Oliver Dixon. “That negro—Ham?”
“No,” rejoined Tom Halstead, promptly. “Ham has been asleep in his berth. I locked the door into the cabin. I’m the only one who had access here.”
“Do you know anything about where the money went to, Halstead?” inquired Mr. Tremaine, looking up at him.