"Charges?" said Trotter, after a moment. The other men leaned forward, fresh interest in their faces.
"Did you say charges, Miss Emsdale?" asked Mr. Bramble, putting his hand to his ear.
"He told me that Mr. Carpenter was at first determined to turn you over to the police, but that he had begged him to give you a chance. He—he says that Mr. Carpenter has had a private detective watching you for a fortnight, and—and—oh, I cannot say it!"
"Go on," said Trotter harshly; "say it!"
"Well, of course, I know and you understand it is simply part of his outrageous plan, but he says your late employer has positive proof that you took—that you took some marked bank notes out of his overcoat pocket a few days ago. He had been missing money and had provided himself with marked—"
Trotter leaped to his feet with a cry of rage.
"Sit down!" commanded Mr. Bramble. "Sit down! Where are you going?"
"Great God! Do you suppose I can sit still and let him get away with anything like that?" roared Trotter. "I'm going to jam those words down Carpenter's craven throat. I'm—"
"You forget he is in Atlantic City," said de Bosky, as if suddenly coming out of a dream.
"Oh, Lord!" groaned Trotter, very white in the face.