“I have nothing to conceal,” the woman retorted with a show of hauteur.
“We will see about that,” Mrs. Willoughby snapped.
“You’ll see yourself if you persist in this indignity!” exclaimed the woman, a spot of scarlet flaming into each cheek.
“Perhaps it will be best for you to submit to the search,” the manager suggested in a conciliatory voice. “If you ladies will step into the adjoining cloakroom one by one I will make the search myself.”
Again the black-eyed woman began to protest angrily, but her companion, who had been the only other person to object to the search, said a few words in an undertone and the enraged woman closed her mouth in a grim line and said no more.
While Mrs. Willoughby and her friend waited anxiously in the dining room, the search was conducted. Within fifteen minutes the clothing of every guest had been examined, including that of the woman who had attempted to escape from the inn. The manager shook her head regretfully as she returned to Mrs. Willoughby.
“I did not find the jewels.”
“Then some of the help must have taken it.”
“I can vouch for every person in my employ. I demand the highest references.”
“Well, someone took the pocketbook! It couldn’t have walked off by itself! I saw one of the waiters looking at it and when he brought the salad—”
“Jennings has been in my employ for six years,” the manager said quietly. “But if it will rest your mind on that score, I am certain he will submit to a search.”