“I don’t understand it,” cried Mr. Sylvester, “that looks—”
“As if he knew where the money was.”
“I begin to hope,” breathed Cicely.
Her father turned and surveyed her. “This puts a new aspect on matters,” said he.
She glanced up beaming. “Oh, will you, do you say, that you think the shadow of this crime has at last found the spot upon which it can rightfully rest?”
“It would not be common sense in me to deny that it has most certainly shifted its position.”
With a radiant look at Cicely, Paula crossed to Mr. Stuyvesant’s side, and laying her hand on his sleeve, whispered a word or two in his ear. He immediately glanced out of the window at the carriage standing before the door, then looked back at her and nodded with something like a smile. In another moment he stood at the front door.
“Be prepared,” cried Paula to Cicely.
It was well she spoke, for when in an instant later Mr. Stuyvesant re-entered the parlor with Bertram at his side, the rapidly changing cheek of the gentle girl showed that the surprise, even though thus tempered, was almost too much for her self-possession.
Mr. Stuyvesant did not wait for the inevitable embarrassment of the moment to betray itself in words. “Mr. Sylvester,” said he, to the young cashier, “we have just received a piece of news from the bank, that throws unexpected light upon the robbery we were discussing yesterday. Hopgood has absconded, and acknowledges here in writing that he had something to do with the theft!”