On the contrary, by some peculiar course of reasoning, he had convinced
himself that whenever he lost a thing it was everybody else's fault in
the house but his own.

"I had it in my hand here not a minute ago!" he would exclaim.

From his tone you would have thought he was living surrounded by
conjurers, who spirited away things from him merely to irritate him.

"Could you have left it in the garden?" my aunt would suggest.

"What should I want to leave it in the garden for? I don't want a paper
in the garden; I want the paper in the train with me."

"You haven't put it in your pocket?"

"God bless the woman! Do you think I should be standing here at five
minutes to nine looking for it if I had it in my pocket all the while? Do
you think I'm a fool?"

Here somebody would explain, "What's this?" and hand him from somewhere a
paper neatly folded.

"I do wish people would leave my things alone," he would growl, snatching
at it savagely.

He would open his bag to put it in, and then glancing at it, he would
pause, speechless with sense of injury.