He told him everything; adding this fact of seeing the money in Mr. Henry's purse, which he had not disclosed to the rest. Gall would not be convinced. It might look a little suspicious, he acknowledged, but he felt sure Mr. Henry was not one to do such a thing: he'd not dare to do it. Besides, think of his high character, as given to the Head Master from the university of Heidelberg. Trace maintained his own opinion. He thought there were ways and means of getting those high characters furnished, when people had a need for them; he said he had mistrusted the man from the first moment he saw him. "Look at his peaching about the smoking! Look at the mean way he lives, the food he eats!" continued Trace, impressively. "He must have private expenses of some sort; or else what makes him so poor?" "He may have left debts behind him in Germany," suggested Gall, after a pause of reflection. "And most likely has," was the scornful rejoinder. "But he'd not make his dinner off potatoes and work himself into a skeleton, to pay back debts in Germany. Rubbish, Gall!" "Look here, Trace. I know nothing of Mr. Henry's private affairs; they may be bad or good for aught I can tell; but if I were you, I'd get rid of that suspicion as to the pencil-case. Rely upon it," concluded Gall, emphatically, "it won't hold water. Put it away from you." Good advice, no doubt; and Trace, cautions always, intended to take it. It happened, however, that same afternoon, that the Head Master sent him to his study for a book. Trace opened the door quickly, and there saw Miss Brabazon, on her hands and knees, searching round the edge of the carpet. She sprang to her feet with a scared look. "A pencil-case will roll into all sorts of odd places," she observed, as if in apology. "I cannot understand the loss; it is troubling me more than I can express." "It must have been lost through the window, Miss Brabazon," said Trace. "That is, some one must have got in that way." "Yes; unless it rolled down and is hiding itself," she answered, her eyes glancing restlessly into every corner. "I think I shall have the carpet taken up to-morrow. It will be a great trouble, with all this fixed furniture." "I don't think you need have it done," observed Trace, who was standing with his back to her before the large bookcase. "I fancy it went out through the window." "You have some suspicion, Trace!" she quickly exclaimed. "What is it?" "If I have, Miss Brabazon, it is one that I cannot mention. It may be a wrong suspicion, you see; perhaps it is." "Trace," she said, laying her hand upon his arm, and her voice, her eyes were full of strange earnestness, "you must tell it me. Tell me in confidence; I have a suspicion too; perhaps we may keep the secret together. I would give the pencil and its value twice over to find it behind the carpet, in some crack or crevice of the wainscoting—and I _know_ it is not there."