"Come, Strong, that story won't answer. Hand it over."
"I haven't it."
"Where is it?"
"I lost it," I replied, before I had time to think.
"Lost it!" he cried anxiously.
"Yes, sir," I returned boldly, resolved to make the best of it, now the cat was out of the bag. "Either that or it was stolen from me."
He looked at me in silence for a moment.
"Do you expect me to believe all your lies?" he demanded finally.
"I don't care what you believe," I answered. "I tell the truth. And one question I want to ask you, Aaron Woodward. Why are you so anxious to gain possession of Nicholas Weaver's dying statement?"
The merchant gave a cry of astonishment, nay, horror. He turned pale and glared at me fiercely.