"I told you
because I thought you ought to know some one went to your trunk; but
I _won't_ tell who it was."
"Ah, I know," answered Seabrooke; "no need to look very far. It was
Neville himself. Who would have believed it of him, weak, miserable
coward that he is? He would have set some one to search my trunk, I
suppose, that it might be found there and prove me a thief."
"Percy Neville! It was not Percy! Oh, no!" exclaimed Charlie; "you
ought not to say it."
"Who then? Tell me at once," persisted Seabrooke, just as Mrs. Moffat
returned with the coffee, to find her young patient flushed and
distressed, with Seabrooke standing over him in rather a threatening
manner.
"I won't," repeated Charlie, "but it wasn't Percy."
"Hi! what's the matter? what is this?" demanded Mrs. Moffat. "If
Master Henderson's been breaking any rules, you'll please not nag him
about it now, Mr. Seabrooke. You'll have him all worried into another
headache, and he is not fairly over this one yet, and he'll not be
fit for his journey home."
Seabrooke paid no more attention to her than if she had not spoken.
"Do you hear me, Henderson?" he asked. "I _will_ know."
"I won't--" began Charlie again; but Mrs. Moffat interposed once
more.
"Mr. Seabrooke," she said, actually pushing herself between the two
boys, the tray with the coffee in her hand, "Mr. Seabrooke, Master
Henderson is under my care so long as he is in here, and I will not
have him worried in this way.
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