"No, sir," said Singh, with a scarcely perceptible sneer in his tones.

"There is nowhere else, sir, unless Glyn has put it away in his own drawers so as to keep it safe."

"Oh!" cried Glyn, starting round angrily.

"Be silent, my boy," said the Doctor, laying his white hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Such a thing is quite possible, as I have previously explained. I was about to ask you to open the drawers yonder."

"But, oh, sir," cried Glyn, "you don't think--"

"My dear boy, no," replied the Doctor, with a look which made Glyn eagerly take out his keys, rapidly unlock every drawer, and then turn to Singh with a keen, angry look upon his countenance, which was now growing hard; and as he pointed towards the drawers he uttered hoa.r.s.ely the one word, "Look."

"No," said the Doctor gravely. "Examine the drawers yourself, Severn.

You feel now that it is impossible that you can have done this thing.

Possibly, perhaps, after coming into the room alone and finding that your companion had left his own keys in his box--"

"I did find them like that, sir, twice."

"Ah," said the Doctor, "and changed the _locale_ of the missing belt."

"No, sir," said Glyn. "I only took the keys out after seeing that the trunk was locked, and gave them to Singh."

"Each time?" said the Doctor. "Tax your memory. Are you sure of that?"

"Quite, sir. Certain. I wouldn't have taken the thing out. I hated his having it here."

"But tell me this," said the Doctor; "the last time you found the keys hanging in the lock, did you look in to see if the case was there?"

Glyn shook his head.

"Ah," said the Doctor, and he stood looking on while Glyn deftly emptied and restored each drawer in turn, the task being facilitated by the orderly state of the contents.

"Nothing," said the Doctor, as that task was ended. "Now, Mr Singh, it will be as well to replace those scattered objects of attire in your box."

"Oh," cried Singh angrily, "I can't think now of such trifles as those."

"Replace them in the box," said the Doctor sternly.--"Mr Severn, have the goodness to help your friend."

As the Doctor spoke he gravely sank into one of the little bedroom chairs, and sat thinking with wrinkled brow, and watching the proceedings of the two boys till they had ended.

"Now," he said, "can you think out any clue to help us to find the missing case?"

"No, sir," came almost simultaneously from the boys' lips.

"No," said the Doctor. "The mystery, for so I must call it, is at present dark and impenetrable. I am not going to send for the police to make a clumsy and painful investigation at once, because I still cling to the belief that something will occur to you two boys that will help us to pierce what now looks very black and impenetrable. You will kindly do as I tell you: go on with your daily avocations as if nothing had happened, and leave any expose of what may or may not be a painful matter to come gradually and from me."

Both boys responded by a sharp nod of the head.

"If you have not thought about the matter," continued the Doctor, "let me tell you this--though you, Severn, must have felt it only a short time back. Every person who is questioned or examined about this missing belt is bound to feel a pang of indignation at what he looks upon as being treated as a thief. We are approaching to fourscore personages in this establishment; and if the belt has been stolen, the probability is that seventy-nine are innocent and only one guilty. Now, you see, to find the one guilty we must spare the seventy-nine innocent.

Do you apprehend my meaning?"

"Yes, sir, of course," cried Glyn, while Singh was silent.

"Then I shall proceed as I think best; but I tell you this: I shall be perfectly firm and just, and shall leave no stone unturned to find out the author of this scandal."

The Doctor turned and left the room, leaving the two boys alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

DOWN THE SCHOOL GROUNDS.

Later on in life, when Dr Bewley's pupils had grown up to manhood, they used to think that in spite of school-troubles and a great deal of hard work, with the natural accompaniments of temporary fits of ill-health (which matured reason taught them had generally been due to some bit of boyish folly not unconnected with pocket-money, extra home-tips, and visits to the highly popular tuck-shop), the sun had always seemed to shine brightly at Dr Bewley's establishment.

There was only one boy there who wore spectacles, not because he had bad eyes, for they were very bright and good, but because nature had formed the lenses of a more than usually rounded shape, with the consequence that their owner was short-sighted and needed a pair of concave gla.s.ses to deal with the rays of light and lengthen the focus of the natural lenses. But, metaphorically and poetically, as somebody once wrote, every boy wore gla.s.ses of the _couleur-de-rose_ type--those which make everything that is happily beautiful seem ten times more so, and in later days have made many a man say to himself, "Oh, if I could see life now as I saw it then!"

There were cloudy and rainy days, of course, at Plymborough; and when the former were recalled it was generally in connection with the loss of Singh's belt.

It was on one of these cloudy days, when paradoxically the sun was shining brilliantly in the pure blue south-western sky, that Glyn and Singh were strolling down the grounds together, looking straight before them, with the full intention of driving the school-troubles out of their minds for the time being.

"What's the good of worrying about it, Singhy?" Glyn had said. "I know it's a horrible nuisance, with the suspicion and unpleasantry, and it was a very beautiful thing, which I am very, very sorry has been lost; but let's try and forget it."

"Oh, who can forget it?" cried Singh impatiently.

"Well, I know it's hard work, and it all seems like a nasty little bit of grit in the school machine. I can't get on with a single lesson without your wretched belt getting into it."

"My wretched belt!" cried Singh hotly.

"Now, don't get into a pa.s.sion, old chap. That isn't being English.

You must learn not to put so much pepper in one's daily curry."

"Oh, I am not cold-blooded like you. You English are so horribly tame."

"Oh no, we are not," said Glyn. "We have got plenty of pepper in us when we want it; but that's where education comes in. I don't mean Dr Bewley's stuff and all we learn of the masters; but, as my dad says, the cultivation that makes a fellow an English gentleman. And do you know what that means?"

"Oh, bother! No."

"Then I'll tell you, Singhy. It's learning to be able to keep the stopper in the cruet till it's really wanted. Do you understand?"

"No; and I wish you'd talk in plain English and say what you mean, and not build up a rigmarole all round it. Our people at home never do so."

"Oh, come, I like that!" cried Glyn, laughing. "Why, people out in the East are always, when they want to teach anything, turning it into a fable."

"Bother fables! Bother the belt! It's made the whole place seem miserable."

"Then don't think about it any more."

"I can't help it, I tell you. Why, you owned just now that you were as bad."