“Where is the boy? Let us have him here,” said Mr. Leonard, moving angrily to the door.
“No, no! that is no way to act,” cried Wilson. “He is a keen knave; you will put him on his guard.”
“You are right. I was going to act hastily. It does look suspicious for the boy. But I cannot believe him guilty without positive evidence.”
“You must go a different way to get it. Give this matter to the detective, along with the other. I warrant he will make something of it.”
“I will do so,” said Mr. Leonard. “This troubles me sadly, Wilson. After fifteen years of business to find myself suddenly the sport of a daring thief and forger. What can be done?”
“Nothing, but to watch and wait,” said Wilson, calmly. “I do suspect that boy. I firmly believe that he is the stool-pigeon of some bold and expert villains. I see nothing we can do now but to have him closely watched, and learn all his associations. That the detective can do far better than we.”
“We will leave it in his hands, then,” said Mr. Leonard, closing his check-book with a determined snap.
Meanwhile the subject of this conversation was giving a touch of his quality to the salesmen.
“Say what you please,” he remarked, “but Mr. Leonard does live gay. Never seen a finer shanty; and there’s no end to the roses and posies around it. Had a high old run through the woods, and come across a highfalutin’ gal, you bet.”
“Did you fall in love with her?”