Our hero did not immediately take in the situation.  He was naturally a little bewildered, being just aroused from sleep, but in a short time the real state of the case dawned upon him.

“By the powers!” he said to himself, “it’s that man that went to the museum with me!  He saw my money, and he came in for it!  I’ll get up and see.”

Quietly and noiselessly he got out of bed, and, going to the chair, felt in his pockets, and so discovered the loss of the stuffed pocketbook.

Andy wanted to laugh, but forbore, lest the sound should be heard in the next room.

“It’s a good joke on the dirty thafe!” said Andy, to himself.  “He’s welcome to all the money, he’s got—­it won’t carry him far, I’m thinkin’.”

Prudence suggested another thought.  When Fairfax found out the worthlessness of his booty, would he not come back and search for the real treasure?

“If he does, I’ll fight him,” thought Andy.

Still, he knew the conflict would be unequal, since the other was considerably his superior in strength.  However, Andy determined that, come what might, he would defend his trust, “or perish in the attempt.”  But, while he was coming to this determination, he heard the door of the adjoining chamber open softly, and then he could hear steps along the corridor.  Evidently, the thief had not found out the actual character of his booty, but was going off under the impression that it was valuable.

“Maybe he’ll come back,” thought Andy.  “I guess I’d better go down and give notice at the desk.  Then, if he comes back, he’ll get into hot water.”

He hastily dressed himself, and, locking his door, went downstairs.  First, however, he removed the money from under his pillow, and put it into his pocket.  He found the clerk at the desk.

“Has the man that came in with me gone out?” asked Andy.

“Mr. Marvin?”

“Yes.”

“He went out about five minutes ago.”

“Did he say anything about coming back?”

“He said it would be late when he returned.  He asked me if we kept open after twelve.  Did you want to find him?”

“I should like to have the police find him,” said Andy.

“How is that?” asked the clerk, surprised.

“He has robbed me.”

“Did you leave your door unlocked?”

“No; but there was a door between our rooms.  He opened it, and stole a pocketbook from the pocket of my coat.”

“While you were asleep?”

“Yes; but I awoke just in time to see him go through the door.”

“How much money was there in it?”

“That’s the joke of it,” said Andy, laughing; “there was no money at all, only some folds of paper.  He got hold of the wrong pocketbook.”

Thereupon, he told the story of the “drop game,” of which he came near being a victim, and what a useful turn the bogus treasure had done him.

“There’s the right pocketbook,” he said, in conclusion.  “I wish you would take care of it for me till to-morrow.  The money isn’t mine, and I don’t want to run any more risk with it.”