“No, uncle, and I hardly think he could have been left alone.”
“But the money is missing; some of it was dropped; this man is always penniless; he has not drawn his wages, and yet he is half tipsy and treating his companions. I hope I am not suspecting him wrongfully, but it looks bad, Lindon, it looks bad.”
The old merchant sat down and began to write. So did Don, who felt better now, and the time glided on till there were the sounds of feet heard in the yard, and directly after Mike, looking very red-eyed and flushed, entered the office, half pushed in by Jem Wimble and a hard-faced ugly man, who had a peculiar chip out of, or dent in, his nose.
“Morn’, master,” said Mike, boisterously. “Couldn’t yer get on without yer best man i’ th’ yard?”
“Silence, sir!” cried Uncle Josiah, turning round, and glaring magisterially at the culprit.
“Take yer hat off, can’t yer?” cried Jem, knocking it off for him, and then picking it up and handing it.
“Give man time, Jem Wimble,” said Mike, with a grimace. “Want to pay me what you owes me, master?”
“Hold your tongue, sir! And listen. Constable, a sum of money has been abstracted from my desk, and this man, who I believe was penniless two days ago, is now staying away from his work treating his friends.”
“Steady, master; on’y having a glass.”
“He was paying for ale with a guinea when I fetched him out, sir,” said the constable. “Now, Mike, you’re wanted for another ugly job, so you may as well clear yourself of this if you can.”