"Good stuff, some of that. It ought to sell high. I wouldn’t mind bidding on that brooch myself. But the bracelet—whew! That’s going high, I’ll bet. Why, I know a dealer—"
The boatman’s foot slipped and he lurched heavily against the case. There was a warning cry from the boy who balanced it upon its precarious perch, echoed by a sharp exclamation from Rosalind as the case upended and slid gently over the railing. An instant later it landed with a jingling crash on the gravel path, six feet below.
Sam swore fervently at his own carelessness.
"Quick!" he commanded. "Get down here, you, and pick up the stuff!"
Five boys scrambled over the railing and leaped to the ground. Rosalind, almost in a frenzy of solicitude for her precarious property, started to run toward the nearest steps. She was pulled back.
"S-sh! Stay here!" commanded the boatman. "Watch!"
He leaned over the railing and looked down upon the wreckage, amid which his uniformed helpers were already on their knees, heedless of broken glass and intent only upon retrieving the treasures that had come such a melancholy cropper.
Bit by bit they rescued the miscellaneous donations to the cause of Belgian relief. Bit by bit they tossed aside the broken glass and piled in a loose heap the gaudy gifts that had been so tenderly guarded.
Rosalind watched, but she was still bewildered. A moment later her lips parted and her eyes widened with alarm.
"Keep still!" cautioned her companion. "I saw it, too. It’s the black-haired one, isn’t it?"
"That’s the way I made it. I spotted him back in the lobby," said the boatman in a low tone. "Leave him to me."
"But another one—that one"—she pointed—"has a ring, and I think—"
"Hush! What do you care? It’s the one with the black hair for us."
A minute later the captain looked up at the watchers.
"We’ve got it all picked up, sir," he said. "What’ll we do with it?"
"Carry it back to the lobby," said the boatman. "It was my fault; I’ll explain how it happened. We’ll see if we can get another case."
"Go get an omnibus tray," ordered the head bell-boy.
A uniformed youth with black hair detached himself from the group and hurried to obey. But he did not move in the direction of the dining-room. Instead, having ascended to the porch, he headed in an opposite direction and made off at a brisk pace.