"No, ma'am."
She sprang to her feet and paced the room several times.
"I'll do it," she cried. "They have never treated me right, and I do not care what becomes of them so long as I go clear. What do you wish me to do, gentlemen?"
I was nonplussed for an instant. Mr. Harrison helped me out.
"I will write out your confession and you can sign it," he said. "Have you ink and paper handy?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Mitts brought forth the material, and we all sat down again.
"Remember to give us only the plain facts," I said.
"I will," she returned sharply.
In a rather roundabout way she made her confession, if it could be called such. It filled several sheets of paper, and it took over half an hour. It contained but little more than what my readers already know or suspect. She knew positively that Mr. Aaron Woodward was the forger of the checks, Holtzmann had presented them, and Ferguson had so altered the daily reports that my father had unwittingly made a false showing on his books. About Weaver she knew nothing.