In The Bishop's Carriage [9]
I know I put them back last night--I'm positive. I could swear to it. I can see myself putting them in the chamois bag, and--O my God, where can they be! This time they're gone!"
Nat could have told her--but what's the use? He felt she'd only lose 'em again if she had 'em. So he let them lie snug in his trousers pocket--where he had put the chamois bag, when his eyes lit on it, under the corner of the carpet. He might have passed it over to her then, but you see, Tom, she hadn't told him to look for a bag; it was a key she wanted. Bell-boys are so stupid.
This time she followed his every step. He could not put his hand on the smallest thing without rousing her suspicion. If he hesitated, she scolded. If he hurried, she fumed. Most unjust, I call it, because he had no thought of stealing--just then.
"Come," she said at last, "we'll go down and report it at the desk."
"Hadn't I better wait here, ma'am, and look again?"
She looked sharply at him.
"No; you'd better do just as I tell you."
So down we went. And we met Mr. Moriway there. She'd telephoned him. The chambermaid was called, the housekeeper, the electrical engineer who'd been fixing bells that morning, and, as I said, a bell-boy named Nat, who told how he'd just come on duty when Mrs. Kingdon's bell rang, found her key and returned it to her, and was out of the room when she unlocked the box. That was all he knew.
"Is he telling the truth?" Moriway asked Mrs Kingdon.
"Ye--es, I guess he is; but where are the diamonds? We must have them--you know--to-day, George," she whispered. And then she turned and went upstairs, leaving Moriway to do the rest.
"There's only one thing to do, Major," he said to the proprietor. "Search 'em all and then--"
"Search me? It's an outrage!" cried the housekeeper.
"Search me if ye loike," growled McCarthy, resentfully. "Oi wasn't there but a minute; the lady herself can tell ye that."
Katie, the chambermaid, flushed painfully, and there were indignant tears in her eyes, which, I'll tell you in confidence, made a girl named Nancy uncomfortable.
But the boy Nat; knowing that bell-boys have no rights, said nothing. But he thought. He thought, Tom Dorgan, a lot of things and a long way ahead.
The peppery old Major marched us all off to his private office.
Not much, girls, it hadn't come. For suddenly the annunciator rang out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nat looked at the bell-boy's bench. It was empty. There was to be a ball that night, and the bells were going it over all the place.
"Number Twenty-one!" shouted the clerk at the desk.
But Number Twenty-one didn't budge. His heart was beating like a hammer, and the ting--ng--ng of that bell calling him rang in his head like a song.
"Number Twenty-one!" yelled the clerk.
Oh, he's got a devil of a temper, has that clerk. Some day, Tom, when you love me very much, go up to the hotel and break his face for me.
"You.--boy--confound you, can't you hear?" he shouted.
That time he caught the Major's ear--the one that wasn't deaf. He looked from Powers' black face to the bench and then to me. And all the time the bell kept ringing like mad.
"Git!" he said to the boy. "And come back in a hurry."
Number Twenty-one got--but leisurely. It wouldn't do for a bell-boy to hurry, particularly when he had such good cause.
Oh, girls, those stone stairs, the servants' stairs at the St. James! They're fierce. I tell you, Mag, scrubbing the floors at the Cruelty ain't so bad. But this time I was jolly glad bell-boys weren't allowed in the elevator. For there were those diamonds in my pants pocket, and I must get rid of 'em before I got down to the office again. So I climbed those stairs, and every step I took my eye was searching for a hiding-place. I could have pitched the little bag out of a window, but Nancy Olden wasn't throwing diamonds to the birds, any more than Mag here is likely to cut off the braids of red hair we used to play horse with when we drove her about the Cruelty yard.
One flight.
Nat could have told her--but what's the use? He felt she'd only lose 'em again if she had 'em. So he let them lie snug in his trousers pocket--where he had put the chamois bag, when his eyes lit on it, under the corner of the carpet. He might have passed it over to her then, but you see, Tom, she hadn't told him to look for a bag; it was a key she wanted. Bell-boys are so stupid.
This time she followed his every step. He could not put his hand on the smallest thing without rousing her suspicion. If he hesitated, she scolded. If he hurried, she fumed. Most unjust, I call it, because he had no thought of stealing--just then.
"Come," she said at last, "we'll go down and report it at the desk."
"Hadn't I better wait here, ma'am, and look again?"
She looked sharply at him.
"No; you'd better do just as I tell you."
So down we went. And we met Mr. Moriway there. She'd telephoned him. The chambermaid was called, the housekeeper, the electrical engineer who'd been fixing bells that morning, and, as I said, a bell-boy named Nat, who told how he'd just come on duty when Mrs. Kingdon's bell rang, found her key and returned it to her, and was out of the room when she unlocked the box. That was all he knew.
"Is he telling the truth?" Moriway asked Mrs Kingdon.
"Ye--es, I guess he is; but where are the diamonds? We must have them--you know--to-day, George," she whispered. And then she turned and went upstairs, leaving Moriway to do the rest.
"There's only one thing to do, Major," he said to the proprietor. "Search 'em all and then--"
"Search me? It's an outrage!" cried the housekeeper.
"Search me if ye loike," growled McCarthy, resentfully. "Oi wasn't there but a minute; the lady herself can tell ye that."
Katie, the chambermaid, flushed painfully, and there were indignant tears in her eyes, which, I'll tell you in confidence, made a girl named Nancy uncomfortable.
But the boy Nat; knowing that bell-boys have no rights, said nothing. But he thought. He thought, Tom Dorgan, a lot of things and a long way ahead.
The peppery old Major marched us all off to his private office.
Not much, girls, it hadn't come. For suddenly the annunciator rang out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nat looked at the bell-boy's bench. It was empty. There was to be a ball that night, and the bells were going it over all the place.
"Number Twenty-one!" shouted the clerk at the desk.
But Number Twenty-one didn't budge. His heart was beating like a hammer, and the ting--ng--ng of that bell calling him rang in his head like a song.
"Number Twenty-one!" yelled the clerk.
Oh, he's got a devil of a temper, has that clerk. Some day, Tom, when you love me very much, go up to the hotel and break his face for me.
"You.--boy--confound you, can't you hear?" he shouted.
That time he caught the Major's ear--the one that wasn't deaf. He looked from Powers' black face to the bench and then to me. And all the time the bell kept ringing like mad.
"Git!" he said to the boy. "And come back in a hurry."
Number Twenty-one got--but leisurely. It wouldn't do for a bell-boy to hurry, particularly when he had such good cause.
Oh, girls, those stone stairs, the servants' stairs at the St. James! They're fierce. I tell you, Mag, scrubbing the floors at the Cruelty ain't so bad. But this time I was jolly glad bell-boys weren't allowed in the elevator. For there were those diamonds in my pants pocket, and I must get rid of 'em before I got down to the office again. So I climbed those stairs, and every step I took my eye was searching for a hiding-place. I could have pitched the little bag out of a window, but Nancy Olden wasn't throwing diamonds to the birds, any more than Mag here is likely to cut off the braids of red hair we used to play horse with when we drove her about the Cruelty yard.
One flight.