This threat frightened Hanleigh. His face was pale.
“I did,” he whined. “I meant to give it back to Mr. Jefferson. Let me have the box, boys, and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“No chance! The box is a lot safer with us than it is with you. We found it and we’re going to give it back. You’d better sit down, Hanleigh, and tell us all about it.”
Hanleigh hesitated. Then he hobbled over to one of the beds and sat down.
“I guess the game is up,” he admitted heavily.
“Tell us what you know about this affair, and we’ll let the whole business drop, as far as you are concerned,” Frank promised. “If you don’t tell us we’ll simply let the police take action—and you know what that will mean,” he added significantly.
“Well,” said Hanleigh, at last, “I suppose there is nothing else for me to do. With any luck at all, I might have had that box, and I would have been miles away by this time.”
“How did it get here, in the first place?”
Hanleigh began his story.
“My uncle, John Sparewell,” he said, “was a servant in the home of Elroy Jefferson for many years. He was in financial difficulties at one time and when he learned about the valuable stamp collection he thought that if he stole it and sold it he might be able to realize enough money to pay off his debts. He knew that the collection was kept in a small safe in the house, so he watched his chance. He was highly trusted by Mr. Jefferson, so it was not long before he had the opportunity he was waiting for. The safe was left unlocked one afternoon, so my uncle slipped into the study, took the box, put on his hat and coat and left the house.”