inquisition.

As the ancient four-wheeler rattled noisily over the cobbles, some
of the shops were taking down their shutters, the surface cars
were beginning to run with increasing frequency, and the sidewalks
were becoming sparsely populated. Familiar as the sights were,
they were yet somehow strangely unreal to the young man. In a
night the face of the world had changed for him; its features
loomed weirdly blurred and contorted through the mystical
grey-gold atmosphere of the land of Romance, wherein he really
lived and moved and had his being. The blatant day was altogether
preposterous: to-day was a dream, something nightmarish; last
night he had been awake, last night for the first time in
twenty-odd years of existence he had lived....

He slipped unthinkingly one hand into his coat pocket, seeking
instinctively his cigarette case; and his fingers brushed the
coarse-grained surface of a canvas bag. He jumped as if electrified.
He had managed altogether to forget them, yet in _his_ keeping
were the jewels, Maitland heirlooms--the swag and booty, the loot
and plunder of the night's adventure. And he smiled happily to think
that his interest in them was Fifty-percent depreciated in twenty-four
hours; now he owned only half....

Suddenly he sat up, with happy eyes and a glowing face. _She_
had trusted him!