Tom hesitated, and turned rosy red, but thinking as the handkerchief and money was gone, he might as well deny ever having it, he answered, "No, I haven't lost any money."
Then the policeman turned to his uncle. "It's a bad business altogether, I am afraid," he said. "I thought this lad might have been led away by that artful young bookmaker, as several others have, but it seems to me he can hold his own for artfulness and lying with Jack himself. Just let him put on his coat and come with us, and I'll take you to the shop where he bought this card, and you will hear that he could not find his money, and the shopkeeper let him have the card, and he promised to take the money to-morrow evening."
The policeman rose as he spoke, and at the same moment his eye fell on the corner of a letter that had been pushed under a book, as they came into the room. "What is this?" he said, pouncing upon it instantly.
"That's my mother's letter," said Tom, trying to snatch it from the policeman's hand.
"Let me see it," interposed his uncle, and the next minute he had torn open the letter, and drew out the Christmas card.
"Now, what do you say to him being a truthful boy?" exclaimed the policeman as Mr. Flowers laid the Christmas card down on the table.
"Tom! Tom! What can have possessed you to tell such a lie?" he said.
Tom hung his head, but did not reply. Even now the foolish boy was considering how much he might safely hide, and how much he had better tell. At last he had made up his story.
"I had lent Jack more than one shilling," he said, "and he paid me altogether, and gave me sixpence for interest."
"How much did you have altogether?" asked his uncle.