It was nearly three months afterwards, when the spring was well advanced, that one afternoon the two friends talked the whole matter out.
Harry looked at Jim Braid and smiled.
"You're a different fellow now," said he. "It was a near thing though. One night the doctor gave you up. He actually left the house believing you were dead."
Jim tried to thank his benefactor, but his heart was too full to speak.
"Come," said Harry, "tell me what has happened since you left Friar's Court."
"There is nothing to tell," said the other. "I tramped to London, sometimes sleeping in the open air, sometimes—when the weather was bad—lodging at wayside inns. At first, I was glad to get here. In a great city like this I felt I could not be recognized and pointed out as a thief. Oh," he burst forth, "you know that I am innocent!"
"I was always sure of it," said Harry. "I can't think how my uncle can believe you guilty."
"Everything was against me," said Jim. "That man, to shield himself, laid a trap for me from which I could not escape. Had I known why he went to the bungalow that night, my story might have been believed."
"I know why he went," said Harry. "I am sure of it. It was to steal the Sunstone."
"The Sunstone!" said Braid. "What's that?"