“Look here, Anson,” cried West angrily; “what’s the good of going on like a great girl—oh-ing, and making weak appeals? Why don’t you speak out like a man? Is it true, or is it not, that you bought these diamonds?”
“It’s all a mistake of Ingleborough’s and as false as false can be! I couldn’t do such a thing!”
“Nor yet throw them away as soon as you found that you were seen?”
“Of course not!” cried Anson excitedly.
“What are these, then?” cried Ingleborough sternly, as he took a couple of rough crystals from his trousers pocket and held them out in his hand to the astonished gaze of his comrades.
“Those?” said Anson, whose face began to turn of a sickly green; “they look like diamonds.”
“Yes: they are the two that you threw away, and which I went and picked up.”
“Oh!” cried Anson, with a piteous groan; “hark at him, West! I wouldn’t have believed that a man could have been so base as to hatch up such a plot as this to ruin his brother-employé. West, I assure you that I never set eyes upon those diamonds before in my life. It’s all a cruel, dastardly plot, and I— Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! Is it possible that a man can be so base?”
He took out his handkerchief and applied it to his eyes, uttering a low piteous groan the while.
“You hear this, Ingleborough?” said West.