Instantly Monty gazed into it. It was empty except for a shred of tobacco.
“Good God!” he cried. “They’ve been stolen from me and they put the pouch back!”
“What has?” the other exclaimed.
“The pearls,” Monty groaned. “I took them for a joke, and now they’re gone!”
He looked apprehensively at Steven, meditating meanwhile how quickly he could turn certain scrip he held into ready money.
Steven evinced no surprise. Instead he rose from his seat and placed a foot upon it as though engaged in tying a lace. But he pointed to the cuff on the bottom of the trouser leg that was on the seat by Monty’s side. And Monty, gazing as he was bid, saw his friend’s slender fingers pick therefrom a string of pearls.
“I know no safer place,” Denby commented judicially. “Of course the customs fellows are on to it, but no pickpocket who ever lived can get anything away from you if you cache it there. On board ship I shall carry it in my pocket, but this is the best place in Paris when one is in strange company.”
Monty said no word. His relief was too great and he felt weak and helpless.
“What’s the matter?” Denby demanded.