“Where? By the safe; inner office. What a fool you were!”
“Impossible!” thought Harry, as his confusion wore off. “Look here,” he cried aloud, “this is a mean, contemptible lie. You have the money; give it me, I say.”
“Supposing I had it,” snarled Pradelle, “what for?”
“To restore it to its owner.”
“Well, seeing that I haven’t got the money, I say you shall not give it back. If I had got it I’d say the same.”
“You have got it. Come, no excuses.”
“I tell you I haven’t got a penny. You struck me down after you had taken it from the safe.”
“It’s a lie!” cried Harry fiercely. “I was not going to do the accursed work, and I did not strike you down.”
“Then look here,” cried Pradelle, pointing to his injured head.
“I know nothing about that. You have the money, and I’ll have it before I leave this room.”