“Then I humbly beg your nephew’s pardon for my unjust suspicions,” cried the Vicar warmly. “Will you forgive me—Tom?”
“Of course, sir,” cried the boy, seizing the extended hand. “But you are convinced now, sir?”
“Perfectly; but I want to know who is the culprit. Can you help me?”
“We’re trying to catch him, sir,” said Tom.
“I’m afraid I know,” said Uncle Richard.
“Yes, and I’m afraid that I know,” said the Vicar, rather angrily. “I’ll name no names, but I fancy you suspect the same body that I did till I found our young friend’s knife.”
“And if we or you catch him,” said Uncle Richard, “what would you do—police?”
“No,” said the Vicar firmly, “not for every scrap of fruit I have in the garden. I don’t hold with imprisoning a boy, except as the very last resort.”
“Give him a severe talking to then?” said Uncle Richard dryly.
“First; and then I’m afraid that I should behave in a very illegal way. But he is not caught yet.”