The captain had scarcely concluded his request before the two lines were formed, the ladies promptly arranging themselves to the left and the gentlemen on his right. A few of the passengers had retired to their state-rooms, but as soon as the wishes of the captain were transmitted to them they immediately appeared and took their places in the line. Napoleon and Navarre arranged themselves side by side at the head of the gentlemen’s line.
“That woman is the thief,” whispered one of the passengers, addressing the man on his left.
“That is exactly the conclusion that has possessed my mind,” was the reply.
“Let no one leave the line without permission until the search is ended; and I request Mrs. Demar and Miss Darlington to take their places in state-room number seven, and let the ladies go there, one at a time, and submit to a thorough search.”
The lady in the black domino left her place in the line, and, with a slow, measured tread, moved round and paused in front of Captain Quitman. This movement, being a plain violation of the explicit instructions of the captain, produced no small amount of curiosity, and led to innumerable exclamations of surprise.
“I would most respectfully ask you, sir, to wait a moment,” said she, in a voice which slightly trembled, but had a sweet, melancholy sound. “I have something to communicate, which, I doubt not, will have a tendency to change the programme which you have been pleased to mention. I must ask you to let me see the gentleman who had the misfortune to lose his watch.”
George Woodburry (a young man who had been personating George III.) then promptly stepped out from the line and confronted the black domino.
“Are you the gentleman whose watch was stolen?”
Mr. Woodburry merely answered by a slight inclination of the head, without opening his lips. She then drew from her pocket a large, double-cased gold watch to which was attached a massive chain. Holding it out toward him, she said:
“Is this your property, sir?”