"Every shilling I had in the world. Let go my arm."
"Be still, or I'll set the police on you! Be still, and tell me," said Mr. Sheldrake with distinct emphasis, "How you are going to replace the money you have taken from your office?"
Alfred trembled violently, but did not raise his eyes.
"You wonder how I know, I daresay," pursued Mr. Sheldrake; "but I know more than you are aware of. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," replied Alfred, and moved away slowly, Mr. Sheldrake following him thoughtfully.
They were not the only actors in this the last act of the sad drama. An old man, whose eyes never left them, was following them watchfully and warily. A pause of several moments ensued. Then Mr. Sheldrake said, weighing every word,
"I don't like to desert an old friend, even when he has behaved shabbily to me, as you have done. It seems to me that, unless something is done for you at once, it is all up with you. You daren't go back to the office until your accounts are squared, and you daren't go home. The detectives will be on the look out for you. I daresay if Tickle and Flint could get back a portion of the money you have--we may as well speak plainly--stolen, they would be inclined to let you off. I'll see if I can serve you."
Alfred's white face was raised imploringly at this glimpse of hope.
"But I must have authority," continued Mr. Sheldrake, "I must have something to show your people, and to prove to them, if necessary, that they may trust me. Here--write as I dictate."
He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and handed it to Alfred, with a pencil.