“Exactly,” said the Doctor; “but, my boy, it seems to me that you are rather wandering away from your purpose, and are not telling me everything exactly as I should wish.”
“It’s because, sir, it won’t come; something seems to stop me. But I am trying, sir.”
“Well, I believe you, my boy,” said the Doctor. “Go on.”
“Yes, sir. Well, I told you that I could hardly eat or sleep for thinking about it.”
The Doctor sighed.
“And it seemed so horrid, sir, that so many people should be suspected for what one person alone must have done.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, fixing him with his eyes again; and then as he met the boy’s frank, unblenching eyes his brow began to wear a curious look of perplexity, and he disjoined the tips of his fingers, picked up his quill-pen, and began slowly to litter the table-top by stripping off the plume.
“Well, sir,” continued Glyn, speaking very hurriedly now, “I have always been dreaming about it, and waking up with starts, sir, fancying I heard some one creeping into the room to get to Singh’s box; and one night it was so real that I seemed to hear some one go to Singh’s bedside, take out the keys from his pocket, crawl to his box, unlock it, and lift the lid, and then shut it and lock it again. And I lay there, sir, with my hands and face wet with perspiration, wanting to call out to Singh; but I couldn’t stir. But when all was silent again I crept out of bed and went to his box to find the keys in it; and I opened it quickly and felt inside, feeling sure that it was one of the boys who had stolen the belt and who had repented and come and put it back again.”
“And had he?” cried the Doctor, startled out of his grave calmness.
“No, sir; I think it was only my fancy. But I have been something like that over and over again.”