He popped his head into Langford’s room, but Langford either had not come or had been in early and had gone out again.
Whistling softly, he went into his own. His whistle ended abruptly, for his bedroom looked as if it had been struck by a cyclone. Everywhere, in wild confusion, lay shirts, collars and clothes; books, papers and personal belongings. The drawers of his bureau were pulled out and the contents scattered. Someone evidently had been in on a thieves’ hunt and had been neither leisurely nor nice about the job.
Phil could not, for the life of him, imagine why anyone would want specially to ransack his of all the choice of rooms at Mrs. Clunie’s. He had nothing worth stealing, 103 while many of his landlady’s boarders were fairly well endowed in the matter of worldly possessions.
He leaned over the bannister and called excitedly for Mrs. Clunie.
“Guid preserve us a’; what’s wrang?” she exclaimed, pulling her dress up in front and hurrying up the stairs.
Phil showed her into his room without a word. The moment she saw the state of it, she threw up her hands in amazement.
“Goodness sakes, Mr. Ralston! It looks as if there had been thievin’ bodies here.”
“Have any strangers been in the house?”
“Not a soul, Mr. Ralston, except the man you sent wi the note to let him ha’e your spurs that were in the bureau drawer.”
“But I didn’t send any man, and I didn’t write any note!” put in Phil.