at the
table he was struck by a singular change in the manner of Mrs. Bradley
and John Wade. They spoke to him only on what it was absolutely
necessary, and answered his questions in monosyllables.

"Will you step into the library a moment?" said John Wade, as they arose
from the table.

Frank followed John into the library, and Mrs. Bradley entered also.

"Frank Fowler," the enemy began, "do you remember my showing you two
evenings since a pocketbook, also some sleeve-buttons of Venetian
mosaic, expensively mounted in gold?"

"Certainly, sir."

"That pocketbook contained a considerable sum of money," pursued his
questioner.

"I don't know anything about that."

"You probably supposed so."

"Will you tell me what you mean, Mr. Wade?" demanded Frank, impatiently.
"I have answered your questions, but I can't understand why you ask
them."

"Perhaps you may suspect," said Wade, sarcastically.

"It looks as if you had lost them and suspected me of taking them."

"So it appears."

"You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Wade. I am not a thief. I never stole
anything in my life."

"It is very easy to say that," sneered John Wade. "You and Mrs. Bradley
were the only persons present when I showed the articles, and I suppose
you won't pretend that she stole them?"

"No, sir; though she appears to agree with you that I am a thief. I
never thought of accusing her," replied Frank.

"Mr. Wade," said the housekeeper, "I feel that it is my duty to insist
upon search being made in my room."

"Do you make the same offer?" asked John Wade, turning to Frank.

"Yes, sir," answered our hero, proudly. "I wish you to satisfy yourself
that I am not a thief. If you will come to my room at once, Mr. Wade,
you and Mrs. Bradley, I will hand you the key of my trunk."

The two followed him upstairs, exulting wickedly in his discomfiture,
which they had reason to forsee.

He handed his key to his artful enemy, and the latter bending over,
opened the trunk, which contained all our hero's small possessions.

He raised the pile of clothes, and, to Frank's dismay, disclosed the
missing pocketbook and sleeve-buttons in the bottom of the trunk.

"What have you got to say for yourself now, you young villain?" demanded
John Wade, in a loud voice.

"I don't understand it," Frank said, in a troubled tone. "I don't know
how the things came there. I didn't put them there."

"Probably they crept in themselves," sneered John.

"Someone put