“Well, my good woman,” said I, as I shut the door behind me somewhat carefully, and afterwards sat down, “you don’t know, I fancy, that some things have been amissing belonging to the gentlemen of the Club? Donald, no doubt, so far as I know, is innocent; but as all the waiters, like honest men, have consented that their trunks should be searched, it is but fair, you know, that I should take a look through your house, to put them all on a footing of equality.”
“And that’s right,” said she, with really so little timidity, or rather with so much apparent sincerity, that, if I had not been M‘Levy, I would have thought that Donald was an honest man after all.
With this permission, and under so kindly a sanction, I commenced my search, by no means a superficial one—perhaps deeper in proportion to Mrs M‘Leod’s seeming sincerity. It was not altogether unsuccessful—small thefts lead on in the scale to big ones, and superficial traces to deeper. I got some newspapers, one with the Club’s address, and putting them together, said—
“Mrs M‘Leod, you will allow me to take these papers; I fancy Mr Ellis allows Donald, as a favourite, to take away an old one now and then to amuse him at home, and, perhaps, to read to you.”
“Nae doot,” said she, “ye dinna fancy Donald wad steal them.”
“By no means. I never said it,” replied I. I was not bound to say I never thought it—a little beyond my candour.
So I bade Mrs M‘Leod good day, and making my way to the Club, I told Mr Ellis the result of my search.
“Well,” replied he, “you have got something, and you have got nothing.”
“Had Donald M‘Leod any authority from you to take these papers, and this one especially directed to the Club?”
“Certainly not; but the matter is so small, that I can’t see how anything can be made of it.”