That was an absurd idea, of course.
Then I wondered if the box contained some scent of indelible odour, which would betray the guilty hand that had come in contact with it.
Equally absurd.
As I crossed the hall, I also thought of finger-prints.
Had she polished the lid and front of the box with the intention of having it examined by experts for the identification of the owner of the fingers that touched it during the night? Less absurd, perhaps, but utterly improbable. Such an idea might have occurred to her had it been certain that the "Blue Water" was really stolen by a thief who had meant to get away with it.
And supposing that were really the case, and the jewel were not replaced during the night?
There were my finger-prints, anyhow, if she had really thought of this plan! And there they were if it occurred to her later, in the event of the sapphire not being restored. I re-entered the central hall--not more than half a minute later than I had left it--and saw someone coming toward me. He, or she, carried no light, and, of course, could identify me, the candle being just in front of my face.
"Well, Gussie," said I. "Cold morning."
"Well, John. Looking for the key?" said the voice of my brother Michael.
"Yes, Beau," I answered. "It's not there."
"No, John," said Michael quietly. "It's here," and he held it out towards me.
"Beau!" I said miserably.
"John!" he mocked me.
A wave of sick disgust passed over me. What had come over my splendid brother?
"Good night," I said, turning away.
"Or morning," replied Michael, and, with a short laugh, he went into the outer hall.
I heard him strike a match and there followed the rattle of the key and the clang of a falling lid. He had evidently thrown the key carelessly into the box, and dropped the lid without any attempt at avoiding noise.
I went back to bed and, the affair being over and the mystery solved, fell into a broken sleep.
§6.
I was awakened at the usual time by David, the under-footman, with my hot water.
"Half-past seven, sir," said he; "a fine morning when the mist clears."
"Thank you, David," I replied, and sat up.
What was wrong? Of course--that idiotic affair of last night, and Michael's heavy fall from his pedestal. Well, there are spots on the sun, and no man is always himself. Why dwell on one fault rather than on a hundred virtues? But it was unlike Michael to tell such silly pointless lies to cover a silly pointless trick.
I dressed and went downstairs, taking a mashie and a ball from the glory-hole, a small room or large cupboard off the corridor that leads to the smoking-room. I would do a few approach-shots from the tennis-courts to the paddock and back, before the breakfast-gong went at half-past eight.
Crossing the rose-garden I ran into Claudia. This surprised me, for she was more noted for being the last arrival at breakfast than for early rising. It struck me that she looked seedy and worried, and she was certainly deep in some unpleasant slough of thought when she saw me.
As she did so, her face cleared and brightened, rather too suddenly and artificially, I thought.
"Hullo, early worm," said she.
"Hullo, early bird," I replied. "What's up?"
"What do you mean?" asked Claudia.
"I thought you looked a bit off colour and bothered," replied I, with masculine tactlessness.
"Rubbish," said Claudia, and passed on.
I dropped my ball at the back of the tennis-courts, and strove in vain to smite it. I scooped generous areas of turf from the lawn, topped my ball, sliced it into a holly bush, threw my club after it, and slouched off, my hands deep in my pockets and anger (with Michael) deep in my soul.
Returning to the house I saw Burdon crossing the hall, the gong-stick in his hand. The brass box leered at me cynically as I passed.
Having washed my hands in the lavatory by the glory-hole, I went into the dining-room.
The fire was blazing merrily, a silver kettle was simmering on its spirit-stand on the table, a delicious smell came from the sideboard, where three or four covered silver dishes sat on their metal platform, beneath which burnt spirit-lamps. The huge room--with its long windows, looking on two sides to the loveliest view in Devon; its great warm-tinted Turkey carpet hiding most of the ancient oak floor; its beautifully appointed table, flooded with sunshine; its panelled walls and arched ceiling--was a picture of solid, settled comfort, established and secure.
Digby was wandering about the room, a plate of porridge in one hand, and a busy spoon in the other. Augustus was at the sideboard removing cover after cover, and adding sausages to eggs and rashers of bacon.
"Good effort, Gus," said Digby, eyeing the piled mass as he passed him with his empty porridge plate. "Shove some kedgeree on top."
"Had it," said Augustus. "This is going on top of the kedgeree."
"Stout citizen," approved Digby, getting himself a clean plate.
Isobel was sitting in her place, and I went to see what I could get for her.
As I stood by her chair she put her left hand up to mine and gave it a squeeze.
"I'll wait for Aunt Patricia, John," she said.
Michael came in.
"Aunt come down?" he asked, and added a belated "'Morning, everybody."
"No," replied Digby. "Watch me gobble and go. I'm not meeting Aunt till the day's been aired a bit."
"Claudia down yet?" enquired Michael, ignoring him.
"I saw her in the garden," I said.
"I'll tell her breakfast's ready," he observed, rising and going out.
"Take her a kidney on a fork," shouted Digby, as the door closed.
We sat down, and conversation was in abeyance for a few minutes in favour of the business of breakfast.
"I suppose the Crown Jewels are all present and correct by now?" said Digby suddenly, voicing what was uppermost in all our thoughts. "Door's still locked. I tried it."
"Of course it's all right," I said.
"Seen it?" asked Augustus.
"Or was it too dark?" he added, with a sneer.
"No--I haven't seen it," I replied. "But of course, it's there all right."
"You should know, of course," said Augustus.
"Shut it, Ghastly," said Digby, "or I'll have your breakfast back."
"You're a coarse lout, Digby," remarked Augustus calmly.
"'Streuth!" murmured Digby to the world in general. "Isn't the gentleman's courage coming on?"
It struck me that it was. I had never known Augustus so daring, assured, and insolent before. I felt more and more convinced that, as Michael had said, nothing but genuine injured innocence and a sense of injustice could have wrought this change.
The door opened, and Claudia, followed by Michael, entered. She looked very white and Michael very wooden and boutonné. I saw Isobel give her a sharp glance as she sat down and said:
"'Morning . . . Aunt not been down yet?"
"No, no. Gobble and go. If asked about sapphires, say you don't know," chanted Digby, beating time with a spoon