Meanwhile, where was the professor, and when did he discover his loss?
After the train was a mile or two on its way he felt in his pocket for the wallet, meaning to regale himself with a sight of its contents—now, as he considered, all his own.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, it met—vacancy.
Pale with excitement, he continued his search, extending it to all his other pockets. But the treasure had disappeared!
Professor Riccabocca was panic-stricken. He could hardly suppress a groan.
A good woman sitting opposite, judging from his pallor that he was ill, leaned over and asked, in a tone of sympathy:
“Are you took sick?”
“No, ma’am,” answered the professor sharply.
“You look as if you was goin’ to have a fit,” continued the sympathizing woman. “Jest take some chamomile tea the first chance you get. It’s the sovereignest thing I know of—”
“Will chamomile tea bring back a lost pocket-book?” demanded the professor sharply.