“It was madness. You ought to have looked carefully,” said James Brandon.
“Yes; that sounds all right, but it’s a wonder I got them. I only just had time to stuff them into my pocket when he came, and then—”
“He came! Who came?” cried James Brandon.
“Tom; and a pretty fight I had for it before I could get away.”
“Then he caught you steal—caught you seeking for those papers?” cried James Brandon wildly.
“Of course he did; I told you so.”
“Then it’s all over. He has told your uncle by this time.”
“Not he. How could he know? Didn’t I tell you it was dark as pitch?”
“What? Then you think he does not know who it was?” cried James Brandon, with the air of a man catching at a straw to save himself.
“Sure of it,” said Sam coolly, as he opened one of the papers and began reading—“‘Instructions for grinding and polishing specula.’”