“How did you get mixed up with such a scoundrel?” asked the trainmaster, at last.
“He—he made me,” Nevins blurted out. He had intended, at first, to deny everything, to brazen it out, to affirm his innocence of any wrong-doing. But the net of evidence had been drawn too tightly around him; he saw there was no possible chance of escape.
“Made you?” repeated Mr. Schofield. “You mean he had a hold of some kind upon you?”
“He—I was afraid of him,” muttered Nevins, sullenly. “He said he wanted to get even with West for sending him to the pen.”
“And you agreed to help? Not only that, it was you who furnished the plan. I know very well that Nolan hasn’t sense enough to work out such a pretty one.”
“He said he wanted to get even with West,” Nevins repeated. “He wanted to break him, to disgrace him, to make him lose his job, to give him something to think about all the rest of his life.”
“Yes, it was a pretty plan,” said Mr. Schofield, musingly; “about the most fiendish I ever heard of. Suppose you tell us how it was worked.”
Nevins grinned cunningly.
“I’m not going to incriminate myself,” he said “I’m not such a fool.”