"My dear child, don't look so black? I shall be much better prepared to discuss that, or any subject, when--we have dined."
The lady made a little moue and kissed him on the lips. Then they went downstairs. But when they had got so far upon their road, the gentleman discovered that he had brought no money in his pockets. Leaving his wife in the salle de lecture, he returned to his bedroom to supply the omission.
The desk in which he kept his loose cash was at that moment standing on the chest of drawers. On the top of it was a bag of his wife's--a bag on which she set much store. In it she kept her more particular belongings, and such care did she take of it that he never remembered to have seen it left out of her locked-up trunk before. Now, taking hold of it in his haste, he was rather surprised to find that it was unlocked--it was not only unlocked, but it flew wide open, and in flying open some of the contents fell upon the floor. He stooped to pick them up again.
The first thing he picked up was a silver spoon, the next was an ivory chessman, the next was a fan, and the next--was a diamond brooch.
He stared at these things in a sort of dream, and at the last especially. He had seen the thing before. But where?
Good God! it came upon him in a flash! It was the advertisement in diamond work which had been the property of Mrs. Homer Joy!
He was seized with a sort of momentary paralysis, continuing to stare at the brooch as though he had lost the power of volition. It was with an effort that he obtained sufficient mastery over himself to be able to turn his attention to the other articles he held. He knew two of them. The spoon was one of the spoons which had been lost at Morlaix; the chessman was one of a very curious set of chessmen which had disappeared at Vannes. From the notice which had been posted in the salle de lecture he had no difficulty in recognising the fan which had vanished from the chair.
It was some moments before he realised what the presence of those things must mean, and when he did realize it a metamorphosis had taken place--the Charles Burgoyne standing there was not the Charles Burgoyne who had entered the room. Without any outward display of emotion, in a cold, mechanical way he placed the articles he held upon one side, and turned the contents of the bag out upon the drawers.
They presented a curious variety at any rate. As he gazed at them he experienced that singular phenomenon--the inability to credit the evidence of his own eyes. There were the rest of the chessmen, the rest of the spoons, nick-nacks, a quaint, old silver cream-jug, jewellery--bracelets, rings, ear-rings, necklaces, pins, lockets, brooches, half the contents of a jeweller's shop. As he stood staring at this very miscellaneous collection, the door opened, and his wife came in.
She smiled as she entered.