Parkins shook his head. "I can't say. I should think he'd have letters of credit. He'd a pocketbook he was always dipping into, and talked of his money a lot."
"A blue pocket-book with a crest?"
"That's so. Do you know it?"
"No. But that pocket-book was stolen from the body. At least it was not found, so it must have been stolen."
"Oh, and I guess Strode was murdered for the sake of the pocket-book. But see here," said Horace shrewdly, "I've told you a heap. Now, you cut along and reel out a yarn to me."
The other man needed no second invitation. He laid aside his pipe and told the story of the crime, suppressing only the doings of his father. Horace listened and nodded at intervals.
"I don't see clear after all," he said when Allen ended, "sure you've told me everything?"
The young man looked uneasy. "I've told you what I could."
Parkins rose and stretched out his hand. "What you've told me will never be repeated. Good-bye."
"What for?" asked Allen, also rising.