“Huh!” snorted Varrell, “and what about that scarf-pin on the table?”
“I know nothing about any scarf-pin,” replied Bosworth, with a show of resentment. “If there’s a scarf-pin on the table, I suppose Morton left it there. The fact that it’s there shows I’m not a thief; I should have taken it if I had been.”
Dick’s conviction began to weaken. It all sounded very natural and plausible. Had Wrenn’s infatuation put them both into a false position? He turned to Bosworth. “If what you say is true, we have done you a great injustice. You say you came here for the book. Did you come directly here?”
“Certainly.”
“Without going to any other room?”
“Of course not,” replied Bosworth, impatiently. “Didn’t I say I wanted the trot?”
A glance of intelligence flashed from Dick’s face to Varrell’s.
“He’s lying,” said Varrell, coolly. “We’ll have to wait till more fellows come, when we’ll search him and search his room.”
A look of apprehension appeared on Bosworth’s face. “You have no right to search me,” he cried. “I won’t stand it.”
“We’ll see!” was Varrell’s laconic answer.