“Hold on, Ezra!” commanded Filhiol. “I’m not making any direct accusation. All I’m saying is that the money and Hal are both gone.”
“How d’ you know the money’s gone? How come you to be at the cap’n’s safe an’ money-drawer?”
“I—why—” stammered Filhiol, taken aback. “Why, the captain had me open it, to put in some receipts, and he told me how much he thought was there. I saw he was mistaken, by more than five hundred.”
“Oh, you counted the cap’n’s money, did ye?” Ezra demanded boldly. “Well, that’s some nerve! In case it comes to a showdown, where would you fit? Looks like your fingers might git burned, don’t it?”
“Mine? What do you mean, sir?”
“Well, you was there, wa’n’t ye? An’ Master Hal wa’n’t, that’s all!” Swiftly Ezra was thinking. The loss, he knew, could not be kept from Captain Briggs. And Hal must be protected. Sudden inspiration dawned on him.
“How much d’ you say is gone?” demanded he.
“Five hundred and some odd dollars.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said the old man, nodding. “Them’s the correct figgers, all right enough.”