He assured me that I had done right; that it was my duty to find my mother; that the fact of my uncle's misapplying my father's fortune justified me in taking the money and the papers from the safe. He commended me for my spirit, and for my devotion to my mother. If I had not felt sure of his approbation beforehand, I suppose I should not have had the courage to tell him my history. At half past seven we went down to tea; and this time Mr. Dunkswell did not make his appearance. After a promenade on deck till nine o'clock, I found myself tired enough to retire, and more inclined to sleep than I had been before since I left Parkville. I went to my state-room, and found the door locked on the inside. I knocked, but Mr. Dunkswell, politely but in rather muddled tones, requested me to wait a moment. I did wait a moment, and was admitted. My room-mate was tipsy, but not enough so to make him anything more than silly. He was lying in his berth, with his clothes off Having occasion to open my valise, I found the contents in a very confused state, and not as I had left them. I was somewhat startled, and hastened to examine further. I had put my letter of credit, and about two hundred dollars in bank bills, in my money belt. The letters I had taken from my uncle's safe I had deposited in my valise. They could be of no value to any one on board but myself, and I thought they would be safe in the state-room. They were not safe; to my astonishment and dismay, they were not to be found. I had placed them under my best suit, and they were certainly gone. The confusion in my valise indicated that they had been stolen. CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH ERNEST FINDS THAT E. DUNKSWELL IS A DISAGREEABLE ROOM-MATE. I WAS vexed, and almost disheartened, by the loss of the letter addressed to Bunyard. My plan to find my mother rested mainly on the possession of it. I had placed the letters in the valise after I came on board, and they must have been taken out after the steamer discharged her pilot. There was not much room for a mystery, for I immediately jumped to the conclusion that E. Dunkswell was the person who had robbed me. E. Dunkswell was at that moment in his berth, at least half drunk, and a bottle labelled "Old Bourbon" stood on his wash-stand. The odor in the state-room was quite equal to that of a third-class bar-room. Why had E. Dunkswell taken those letters? In what manner did they concern him? This was an interesting, and rather exciting question to me, and it suggested other pertinent inquiries. He had not taken his passage till after I applied for mine. He had practically insisted that I should occupy the same state-room with him. Why did he refuse to exchange berths with Mr. Solomons? Why did he labor so hard to become intimate with me?