The Jewelled Snuff Box by Alice Chetwynd Ley

frown. “I certainly did see that scoundrel, and had the letter of him; and how I left him without putting a bullet through his false heart, I don’t know. But you said no violence, so —” he broke off, with a helpless gesture of his hands.
    “Yes, yes, but where is it?” hissed Celia, almost beside herself with anxiety. “If you had it then, you must have it now!”
    He shook his head.
    “This will sound odd, I know; it does even to myself. I had that letter of Summers, I put it in a secret place about me, and I rode off for London.”
    He broke off again, and looked through her into the middle distance.
    “That much I remember clearly; and the next thing I remember is finding myself somewhere in a street down in the City with only a few shillings in my pocket, and all my possessions — wallet, watch, fobs, snuff box, quizzing glass — all gone!”
    Celia stared at him for a moment without speaking; then an expression of contempt settled on her face.
    “I wonder you should think to take me in with such a cock and bull story!”
    “I know it does sound a trifle thin — that is why I have related it to no one else — but, believe it or not, it is the sober truth.”
    “Then you must have been in your cups!” exclaimed Celia, in disgust.
    He shrugged. “I wish I could think so: any other explanation is too deuced creepy. But you might know I wouldn’t drink with Summers; and as far as my recollection carries me, which is to within a mile or two of his place in Kent, I certainly didn’t stop for refreshment. I set out from his house with the intention of pushing on back to Town in spite of the weather, for it had come on to snow when I arrived there. Believe it or not, Celia, the next thing I recollect is standing in this street in the City! I looked at a nearby clock, and it wanted a few minutes to one. I felt confoundedly shaky, and reached home I know not how. I believe you must know that I’ve been laid up ever since, for my sister babbled something about having sent you a message to that effect when your note was delivered at the house. They handed that to me only this morning; I replied at once.”
    “But this is fantastic!” exploded Celia.
    He smiled mirthlessly. “I agree with you. However, I’ve been turning the business over in my mind, as you may imagine; and I fancy I’ve arrived at a possible explanation.”
    “I shall be glad to hear it,” said Celia, in an acid tone. Julian’s suggestion crossed her mind, and she wondered if there could be any truth in it.
    “There’s no doubt at all that I was robbed,” he said. “Though why the thief should have had the mercy to leave me my fare home, passes comprehension! However, my medico said that he thought my recent malady might have been caused by a severe blow on the head; and it’s just possible that such a blow would cause me to forget all that passed for a time afterwards. I didn’t question him on the point, because obviously I’m not anxious to advertise the fact that I am unaware of my actions from close on six o’clock of one evening until the following afternoon — and I rely on you, Celia, not to spread such a tale abroad.”
    She gave him a scornful glance.
    “I am not likely to do so; remember I have a stake in this affair! So you suppose that you were robbed? My letter would be taken with your other possessions, presumably, and therefore at this moment it may be anywhere. God, Richard, I cannot be easy until I have it in my hand! It spells my certain ruin if Francis should chance upon it! Is there nothing to be done to recover it?”
    She seized his arm with these words, looking up imploringly into his face. He patted her hand reassuringly.
    “Ah, but I think I know the identity of this robber, Celia. Never fear, I think we shall recover your letter!”
    “What do you mean?” she asked, amazed.
    “Who would be most likely to want to gain possession of that letter — who that knows of its existence, that is?” he