During all this time the accused maintained a moody silence—addressing only a short phrase or two to some of his own friends, who had clustered around him. His look betokened confidence; and but for a side-whisper which I had heard from Casey, I should certainly have continued under the impression that the gentleman was innocent. This whisper, however, staggered my faith: for it was a simple and earnest declaration that he, Casey, had seen the watch in the fellow’s hand.
“Surely you must be mistaken—it might have been some other hand?”
“Not a bit of it!—I noticed the ruffles as the watch disappeared under them.”
“Remember, Casey, you’re not very clear-sighted at this moment: think what you’ve been taking—”
“Bah! I’m not blind for all that; and I tell you, the loss of my twenty guinea repeater has made me as sober as a judge, my boy. I hope, however, it is not gone yet—we’ll soon see.”
“You’ll never see your watch again,” said I. “The fellow hasn’t got it—I can tell by his looks.”
My conjecture proved correct. The young Frenchman was searched in common with the others. He made no objection—he could make none—and, to do the old sea-wolf justice, he performed his duty with elaborate exactness. He was no lover of Creole dandyism; and I verily believe he would have chuckled with delight, to have found the stolen property on the person of the exquisite.
It was not so to be, however: the watch was not there, and the Frenchman smiled triumphantly at the termination of the search.
Others were now examined, until all had had their turn. No watch!
All present were declared innocent men—the watch was not in the room!