“What?”
“Precisely!—do you recall our being jostled by two men in the narrow corridor of the hotel? Well, then is when I lost my wallet. I am sure of it. I wasn’t in a position to drop it from my pocket.”
Macloud’s hand sought his own breast pocket and stopped.
“I forgot to change, when I dressed. Maybe the other fellow made off with mine. I’ll go and investigate—you keep an eye on the boys.”
Presently he returned.
“You’re right!” he said. “Mine is missing, too. We’ll call off the boys.”
He flung them some small coins, thereby precipitating a scramble and a fight, and they went slowly in.
“There is just one chance,” he continued. “Pickpockets usually abstract the money, instantly, and throw the book and papers away. 125 They want no tell-tale evidence. It may be the case here—they, likely, didn’t examine the letter, just saw it was a letter and went no further.”
“That won’t help us much,” said Croyden. “It will be found—it’s only a question of the pickpockets or some one else.”
“But the some one else may be honest. Your card is in the wallet?”