And when the letter-bags were delivered, Arthur returned to the counting-house and found Mr. Bristow ready to hear what he had to say.
"I met my cousin last night, Lady Mary's son," explained Arthur.
And then he related as clearly as he could what had taken place the previous evening.
"You say he had taken too much to drink when you met him?"
"Oh yes! He could hardly walk. But I think a very little wine or spirits makes him like that," said Arthur, anxious to screen his cousin as much as he could.
"That matters little. The thing is, he did not know what he was talking about when he admitted that, if he did know anything of the missing letter, no one could prove it, and yet at the same time, he accused you of stealing the letter. The two statements contradict each other."
"Yes, they do," admitted Arthur. "But I should like to ask you, Mr. Bristow, whether you think I stole that letter?" And as he spoke, Arthur looked earnestly into the man's eyes as though he would read his answer there.
Mr. Bristow looked at him almost as earnestly as he replied: "Murray, I don't believe you know any more of that letter than I do!"
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that word!" he said. "I can bear it for a bit longer now."
And the boy turned and went to his own desk, for his eyes were full of tears, and he did not want to let Mr. Bristow see them fall.