“If you do they’ll swear I put ’em there, and the superintendent will believe them.”
“You scoundrel!” cried West passionately, and Anson uttered a low sneering laugh; but his face grew set directly, as the officer turned upon him.
“Which is your desk, sir?” he said sharply.
“Search them all!” was the reply.
“Which is his desk?” said the superintendent to West now.
The young man made no reply, and Ingleborough pointed it out.
“Friends and brother-workers!” said Anson, in a sneering manner. “Look here, noble employers, play fair! Let’s have all the desks and the whole place searched.”
No one spoke, and after a cursory examination of the tall stool in front of the desk the officer picked up a thick silver-mounted rattan cane thrust in a stand by the side of the desk in company with three umbrellas.
“Yours?” he said, turning to the suspect.
“Yes, and one of the umbrellas too. The worst one’s mine. That dandy silk one is West’s. The handles of all three are sure to unscrew and are hollowed out to hold diamonds, no doubt.”