“You scoundrel!” he groaned; “but he shall give up every note, and—”
Once more he felt as if paralysed, for as he turned from the safe he knew that he was not alone in the office.
Caught in the act! Burglary—the open safe—the notes gone, who would believe in his innocence?
He could think of nothing else, as he heard Van Heldre’s voice in the darkness—one fierce angry utterance—“Who’s there?”
“He does not know me,” flashed through Harry Vine’s brain.
“You villain!” cried Van Heldre, springing at him.
It was the instinctive act of one smitten by terror, despair, shame, and the desire to escape—a mad act, but prompted by the terrible position. As Van Heldre sprang at him and grasped at his breast, Harry Vine struck with all his might, the heavy ruler fell with a sickening crash upon the unguarded head, he felt a sudden tug, and with a groan his father’s friend sank senseless on the floor.
For one moment Harry Vine stood bending over his victim; then uttering a hoarse sigh, he leaped over the body and fled.