“Father has often told me,” I concluded, “that the house was mine, and had been put in Mrs. Ranck’s name because he felt she was honest, and would guard my interests in his absence. And he told me there was a store of valuable articles in his room, which he had been accumulating for years, and that the old sea-chest alone contained enough to make me independent. But when we examined the room this morning everything was gone, and the chest was empty. I don’t know what to think about it, I’m sure; for father never lied, in spite of what Mrs. Ranck says.”
Uncle Naboth whistled a sailor’s hornpipe in a slow, jerky, and altogether dismal fashion. When it was quite finished, even to the last quavering bar, he said:
“Sam, who kept the keys to the room, an’ the chest?”
“Mrs. Ranck.”
“M—m. Was the room dark, an’ all covered over with dust, when you went in there this mornin’?”
“I——I don’t think it was,” I answered, trying to recollect. “No! I remember, now. The blind was wide open, and the room looked clean and in good order.”
“Sailors,” remarked Mr. Perkins, impressively, “never is known to keep their rooms in good order. The Cap’n been gone five months an’ more. If all was straight the dust would be thick on everything.”
“To be sure,” said I, very gravely.
“Then, Sam, it stands to reason the ol’ woman went inter the room while you was asleep, an’ took out everything she could lay her hands on. Cap’n Steele didn’t lie to you, my boy. But he made the mistake of thinkin’ the woman honest. She took advantage of the fact that the Cap’n was dead, an’ couldn’t prove nothin’. And so she robbed you.”
The suspicion had crossed my mind before, and I was not greatly surprised to hear my uncle voice it.