e been thieves,
sir--thieves."

"Yes, madam; and they have taken my purse and gold watch too, besides
two suits of clothes. There, go on down. We'll join you soon. I want
to think what's to be done."

The stairs creaked as Mrs Champernowne descended, and just then
something caught Rodd's eye--something bright and shiny, against the
leaves of a big old gazetteer lying upon the side-table.

Rodd uttered an ejaculation.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

"Something more gone?" cried the Doctor.

"No, uncle; there's your watch. And here's your gold pencil-case too,"
continued the boy, as he raised the corner of the book. "Why, they have
been turning the watch-ribbon into a marker, and somebody has been
writing here on the fly-leaf."

"Thank goodness!" grunted Uncle Paul. "That's something saved out of
the fire. Never mind the writing. But they have taken our clothes."

"It's in French, I think, uncle, but I can't quite make it out."

"French!" cried Uncle Paul fiercely. "Why, of course! How stupid! I
might have known. We have been attacked in the night by a gang of old
Napoleon's scum. That man's bound to be the curse of my life. Don't
stand staring there, boy. Can't you see?"

"No, uncle," said the boy sturdily. "What nonsense! Napoleon couldn't
have invaded England in the night to come and steal our clothes."

"Bah! Idiot! Can't you see it's some of those scoundrelly French
prisoners who escaped yesterday? That vagabond of a boy perhaps that
you pampered off and were feeding with our good English provisions. Now
you see the consequences. The ungrateful rapparee--Oh no, but that's
Irish, and he'd be French."

"Yes, uncle," said the boy thoughtfully, for his uncle's fulminations
fell blankly upon his ears as he stood trying to puzzle out some of the
pencilled words upon the fly-leaf of the book.

"Here's _pardon_, uncle, and something else I can't make out, and
_changer_. Why, that means exchange! Yes, and lower down here's _sous_
something, only it's written over `John Champernowne' and `his book';
but that's in ink. What does _oreiller_ mean, uncle?"

"Bolster," said Uncle Paul. "No: pillow," and he turned involuntarily
towards the bed, where, unperceived before, a scrap of something red
peered from beneath the clean white pillow-case. "Under the pillow,"
said Uncle Paul, and stepping to the side of the bed he snatched up the
soft down cushion deeply marked by the pressure of his head.

Ca