"'Well, if it was,' Tim stammered, 'it isn't here now.' It was the complimentary speech that Sam was about to make that was upsetting Tim, so Sam thought. "By this time half the guests were on their feet. "'Look around among the glasses,' suggested one. "'Maybe it's under your napkin,' remarked another. "'I gave it to _you_, I thought,' said Tim, turning to the physician. "'No, you didn't. You've got it somewhere around; perhaps you've slipped it in your pocket.' There was a slight tone of suspicion in the voice which jarred on Sam. "'No,' answered Tim helplessly. 'I didn't put it in my pocket. I don't know what I did with it.' "'Send for Hawkshaw the detective--lock the doors, and search every man down to his underwear!' shouted Sam in a serio-comic voice. "Chairs were now being pushed back, and some of the men were on their knees groping around the floor near where Tim sat, the head waiter holding a candle from the table. "All this time Sam was standing waiting to finish his speech, to him the event of the evening. The table was moved, and every square foot of the carpet gone over, Tim assisting in the search, but in a perfunctory way that attracted Sam's attention. "'Never mind, gentlemen, let it go,' Sam said. 'I can do without it. It will turn up somewhere; you've all seen it, anyhow, and so it's just as good as if I held it up before you.' "'Some men, as I said, I have known from boyhood----' "The young millionnaire now jumped up. "'Hold on, Mr. Collins; I'd like to find that opal before we do anything else. Nobody has swallowed it'--constant association with money had warped his judgment of human nature, perhaps. 'Here's what's in my clothes,' and he began unloading his keys, knife, loose change, and handkerchief from his coat-pocket and piling them up on the table. "Every man followed his lead, the contagion of his example having spread through the room. The unloading was as much a part of the merriment of the evening as Tim's comic song or Sam's sallies of wit. Tim, all this time, had been edging near where Sam stood. "'Out with your stuff, Peaslee,' shouted the millionnaire--'here, right on the table--everything.' "Tim turned pale and made a step nearer Sam. "'I haven't got the opal, Sam; indeed I haven't!' There was a tone in his voice that was almost pathetic. "'Of course you haven't, old man, but out with your stuff, just as the others have. Hurry up!' "'I can't, Sam!' groaned Tim. "You can't!' "'No, I can't! Please don't ask me. I must bid you good-night, gentlemen. Please let me go away,' and he moved to the door and shut it behind him. "Every man looked at Sam. For a moment no one spoke. Collins himself was dumfounded. "Damn queer, isn't it?' whispered the millionnaire to Sam. 'What do you think is the matter with him?'