"Ah?" exclaimed the chief steward, arching his furry brows. "Is this perhaps a bribe, monsieur?"
"Monsieur the chief steward is good enough to jest," said Pettipon, standing first on one foot and then on the other in his embarrassment, "but I assure you that it has been a most serious blow to me."
"Blow?" repeated the chief steward. "Blow? Is it that in the second class one comes to blows with them?"
"He knows about it all," thought Monsieur Pettipon. "He is making game of me." His moon face stricken and appealing, Monsieur Pettipon addressed the chief steward. "He brought it with him, monsieur the chief steward. I have my reasons——"
"Who brought what with whom?" queried the chief steward with a trace of asperity.
"The passenger brought this aboard with him," explained Monsieur Pettipon. "I have good reasons, monsieur, for making so grave a charge. Did I not say to Georges Prunier—he is in charge of the corridor next to mine—'Georges, old oyster, that hairy fellow in C 346 has a look of itchiness which I do not fancy. I must be on my guard.' You can ask Georges Prunier—a thoroughly reliable fellow, monsieur, a wearer of the military medal, and the son of the leading veterinarian in Amiens—if I did not say this. And Georges said——"
The chief steward held up a silencing hand.
"Stop, I pray you, before my head bursts," he commanded. "Your repartee with Georges is most affecting, but I do not see how it concerns a busy man like me."
"But the passenger said he found this in his berth!" wailed Monsieur Pettipon, wringing his great hands.
"My compliments to monsieur the passenger," said the chief steward, "and tell him that there is no reward."