She interrupted him. Her eyes were angry, her slender figure was rigid, as if with some sudden resolution. “Why did you wait until now?” she demanded. “It’s after seven o’clock. You knew it was mine.”
“When Jim told me about the advertisement I did, Miss, and I says to myself, ‘Wasn’t you a crazy not to guess whose it was?’ I says. But, you see, I was on the other side of the field most of the time.”
“Most of the time,” she repeated, a little sneeringly. “Were you near the wagon at all?”
Her reference was plain. He rubbed at his chin with the back of a shaking hand. “Well, I—I held Miss Townsend’s team a bit,” he admitted huskily.
“Oh, you did!” There was a triumphant ring in her voice. “Then I think you have impudence to dare to come to me. If you didn’t take the purse——”
“No!”
“—You picked it up knowing it belonged to me. And you held it until I offered a reward, instead of coming straight here to give it back. What is the difference between that and theft?”
He made no reply, only stood, his back against the door, and stared at her.
“I shall not pay you the reward,” she went on. “I found out something about you when you first came in. I counted the money there at that table”—she pointed to the other end of the room—“and there weren’t seven bills in the purse. Look!” she held six out to him.
His jaw set. He stood upon both feet, bringing heel to heel, his arms at his side.