"It's in the left-hand corner in front," he said; and then there was silence for a moment.
Seabrooke laid aside half-a-dozen articles, then suddenly started to his feet with an exclamation, holding in his hand a creased and crumpled envelope, which he hastily opened, and took from it—Percy's hundred-dollar note!
He turned deathly pale and for a moment stood gazing at it as if stupefied.
"What is it? Percy Neville's money?" asked Charlie, who, in common with every other boy in the school, knew the story of Percy's lost banknote.
"Yes," answered Seabrooke in a stern, cold tone, "did you say you saw some one put it there?"
"Yes," said Charlie, "but you must not ask me who it was, for I cannot tell."
"You must tell me," said Seabrooke, striding up to the bed, "you must tell me. Who was it?"
"I won't, I won't; I will not," said Charlie, firmly. "I told you because I thought you ought to know some one went to your trunk; but I won't tell who it was."
"Ah, I know," answered Seabrooke; "no need to look very far. It was Neville himself. Who would have believed it of him, weak, miserable coward that he is? He would have set some one to search my trunk, I suppose, that it might be found there and prove me a thief."
"Percy Neville! It was not Percy! Oh, no!" exclaimed Charlie; "you ought not to say it."