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The Man Who Kept His Money In A Box
by
“Where on earth can it be?” said I, sitting down on the trunk in question. At the moment I almost thought that she had been instrumental in hiding it.
“How am I to know?” she answered; and I fancied that even she was dismayed. “What a fool that woman is!”
“The box must be in the house,” I said.
“Do find it, for papa’s sake; there’s a good fellow. He will be so wretched without his money. I heard him say that he had only two pounds in his purse.”
“Oh, I can let him have money to go on with,” I answered grandly. And then I went off to prove that I was a good fellow, and searched throughout the house. Two white boxes had by order been left downstairs, as they would not be needed; and these two were in a large cupboard of the hall, which was used expressly for stowing away luggage. And then there were three in Mrs. Greene’s bed-room, which had been taken there as containing the wardrobe which she would require while remaining at Bellaggio. I searched every one of these myself to see if I could find the hole in the canvas. But the hole in the canvas was not there. And let me count as I would, I could make out only six. Now there certainly had been seven on board the steamer, though I could not swear that I had seen the seven put into the small boat.
“Mr. Greene,” said the lady standing in the middle of her remaining treasures, all of which were now open, “you are worth nothing when travelling. Were you not behind?” But Mr. Greene’s mind was full, and he did not answer.
“It has been stolen before your very eyes,” she continued.
“Nonsense, mamma,” said Sophonisba. “If ever it came out of the steamer it certainly came into the house.”
“I saw it out of the steamer,” said Mrs. Greene, “and it certainly is not in the house. Mr. Robinson, may I trouble you to send for the police?–at once, if you please, sir.”
I had been at Bellaggio twice before, but nevertheless I was ignorant of their system of police. And then, again, I did not know what was the Italian for the word.
“I will speak to the landlord,” I said.
“If you will have the goodness to send for the police at once, I will be obliged to you.” And as she thus reiterated her command, she stamped with her foot upon the floor.
“There are no police at Bellaggio,” said Sophonisba.
“What on earth shall I do for money to go on with?” said Mr. Greene, looking piteously up to the ceiling, and shaking both his hands.
And now the whole house was in an uproar, including not only the landlord, his wife and daughters, and all the servants, but also every other visitor at the hotel. Mrs. Greene was not a lady who hid either her glories or her griefs under a bushel, and, though she spoke only in English, she soon made her protestations sufficiently audible. She protested loudly that she had been robbed, and that she had been robbed since she left the steamer. The box had come on shore; of that she was quite certain. If the landlord had any regard either for his own character or for that of his house, he would ascertain before an hour was over where it was, and who had been the thief. She would give him an hour. And then she sat herself down; but in two minutes she was up again, vociferating her wrongs as loudly as ever. All this was filtered through me and Sophonisba to the waiter in French, and from the waiter to the landlord; but the lady’s gestures required no translation to make them intelligible, and the state of her mind on the matter was, I believe, perfectly well understood.