“You did bring them back,” said Allan. “That saved you. I guess I can get Detective Dobbs to let you go.”
“Detective Dobbs,” stammered Cheney; “you’re bluffing.”
“Well, Dobbs isn’t,” said Allan. “He suspected you from the first. He spoke to you about the plates, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Cheney admitted, “but I didn’t think he knew anything. He only said some pictures were stolen, and if I saw anybody with them I better tell him to get them back in a hurry.”
“Look here, Cheney,” demanded Allan, stepping close to the other, “what did you take them for?” Cheney was staring at the floor. Then he lifted his head. “Oh, I told you,” he said. “Just for fun.”
“No, you didn’t, Cheney.”
But Cheney would confess nothing further; and when it occurred to Allan that asking Cheney why he took the plates was tempting him to confess that he had thought to shield his father, he decided to say nothing further about the matter to Cheney. The plates were there again—that was pleasanter to think of than proving any one to be a thief.
“Let it go,” was all that Allan finally said to Cheney.
“You’re not going to say anything about it, are you?” asked Cheney.
“No.”