“What joke is he going to play on them?” Tuckerman whispered to Tom. “I can’t imagine what he’s got in mind.”
“He’s putting up a good bluff,” Tom whispered back. “He looks very much in earnest.”
And Ben did look as if his statement had been perfectly reasonable. He nodded at Cotterell. “You may be a great hand at mislaying things—I don’t know much about that; but I do know that you’re a wonder at hiding them.”
“That’s so, I am,” agreed the buff-coated man with a pleased chuckle. “I can hide things so well that very often I don’t know where to look for them myself.”
“Well,” said Miss Boothby, “where is the silver? It’s almost time for dinner.”
Ben bowed, imitating the courtly manner of Cotterell. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “if you will be so good as to fall into line behind me, I will endeavor to answer Miss Boothby’s question.”
Like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Ben, in his yellow satin coat and knee-breeches, went into the hall and up the stairs, followed by Cotterell, Penelope Boothby, Milly and Sarah, Tuckerman, Tom and David, and a line of men and women.
He led them into the attic. When they were all in the big room he pointed to the wall along which ran the row of pegs from one of which he had taken the coat.
“Now,” he said, “please tell me what you see.”
“A wall,” answered Milly promptly, “with some pegs to hang things on.”