“Where are my books and papers?” I asked my landlord.
The police had taken them on the day after my arrest.
“And my bank-notes?”
“Here they are!” exclaimed my landlord, triumphantly. “I expected the police; I knew you had money somewhere, so I took the liberty of searching until I found it. The police made particular inquiries about your cash, and went away disappointed, taking the other things with them.”
“Would they have appropriated it?”
“Hem! Very likely—under pretence of paying your expenses.”
On application to the police of the district, I received the whole of my effects back. One of my books was detained for about a week; a member of the police having taken it home to read, and being, as I apprehend, a slow reader.
It was matter of great astonishment, both to my friends and to the police, that I escaped with so slight a punishment.
CHAPTER XVIII.
what my landlord believed.