“Me? Why, there’s nothing in the box but a lot of old gimcracks”—he removed the lid impatiently for Jim’s benefit—“and I haven’t had it open since I put it in there. Besides, hang it all, Jim, you know I wouldn’t leave this drawer looking like that!”
Jim wasn’t convinced of it, but he nodded agreement. “Who do you suppose—” he began. Then he asked quickly; “Anything missing?”
“Missing? Why, no, I guess not. Gosh, there’s nothing here any one would want!” He had begun putting the things in order again, folding the garments and piling them neatly back in place. He really seemed more disturbed by the disorder of things than by the fact that some person had intruded. “We’ll just have to lock the door when we go out, Jim. I’ve been here three years and this is the first time I’ve had anything of mine troubled.”
“Suppose some one did it for a joke?” asked Jim.
“Mighty poor joke,” Clem grumbled. “Any one could come in here that wanted to when we’re both out, but I don’t see why they’d want to muss my drawer all up.”
“When did you look in here last, Clem?”
“This morning. I got a pair of socks out. It was all right then.” Something rattled under his hand as he spoke, and he picked up a steel key-ring with five keys attached. “If folks are going to get fresh this way,” he muttered, “I’d better put these somewhere—” He stopped, stared for an instant at the keys and then swung around and strode to the closet. From the shelf he lowered the black suit-case. In a moment he had unlocked it and thrown the lid back. Jim, watching over his shoulder, spoke relievedly.
“It’s there,” he said.
But Clem had the folded envelope in his hand, and it was empty! He looked blankly over his shoulder. “Well, what do you know!” he ejaculated. Jim shook his head.
“Sure it was there, Clem?”