“No—not that. It’s some that’s missing.”
“How much?” asked Ashby.
“Never mind—a pound or two.”
“Are you sure it’s about in the room?”
“That’s what I want you to look and see, you young donkey!”
“Two pounds,” said Ashby; “was it all in silver?”
“No—it was three or four pounds—about £4 10. I don’t know what it was in.”
“Four pound ten—that’s a lot,” said the young brother. “I thought you said you were hard up?”
“So I did. It’s not my money, but the club’s. What’s that to do with it? I want you to see if you can find it while I’m down in class.”
Whereupon they set to work. They emptied the contents of every drawer in a glorious heap on the floor. They shook out his socks, and turned the pockets of all his coats inside out. They pulled his bed about the room, and shook out all his sheets. They raked out his fire, and prised up a loose board in the floor. They emptied his basins into his bath, and investigated the works of his eight-day clock. But high or low they could find no money.