The other was puzzled. “How did you get it?”
“I took it out of his box downstairs. Nobody saw me.”
Even before the father said a word, almost before he had time to comprehend the idea, Lanny knew that he shouldn't have done it; he wished he hadn't done it.
“You mean,” said Robbie, “you stole this from the hotel desk?”
“Well, Robbie, he stole your papers, and I thought this might refer to them.”
Robbie was looking at his son as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was hearing. It was most uncomfortable for Lanny, and the blood began burning in his cheeks. “Whatever put that into your head, son?”
“You did, Robbie. You said you would fight the old devil with his own Greek fire.”
“Yes, Lanny — but to steal!”
“You have had papers stolen for you — at least I got that idea, Robbie. You told me you had got some papers belonging to that Prince Vanya, or whoever it was, in Russia.”
“Yes, son; but that was different.”