The steward—well, the steward simply goggled at Clement. There was incredulity and also fear showing in his devastated countenance. He had been ready to pounce at the first glitter of a diamond. He had been ready to suggest some hiding place overlooked by the captain. He was sure that the tiara must be on Clement’s person since it was not in his suitcase—where he himself had put it.
Captain Heavy glared at him, and snapped, “Well, my man, what have you got to say? You’ve subjected a passenger on my ship to a disgusting indignity—for what?”
“It—it must be on ’im,” said the steward, sullenly backing away, his mind absolutely bewildered by the unexpected absence of the tiara.
“Must!” thundered the captain. “Good God! man, do you want me to take his skin off?”
“Well, ’e ’as it. Didn’t I see ’im ’angin’ about——”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this. As I knew, Mr. Seadon did not take that tiara. Why the devil did you accuse him? I want to know that? And now.”
“I think”—said Clement in a cold voice—“I think I have already suggested why.”
“Eh, Seadon? You suggested? What did you suggest, my good chap?” cried the captain, only too anxious for the good of his service to make amends.
“I suggested that he was anxious to fix suspicion on some one—some one other than himself.”
“Yes—to divert suspicion. That’s it. That’s what you said,” snapped the lady, who not only had a natural instinct for finding scapegoats, but who owed the steward something for making her appear so conspicuously foolish.