“Yes, boy, to the bitter end,” said his uncle sternly.
“I thought, uncle, that as Uncle James had given me those papers, which made me rich instead of him, my cousin Sam had felt disappointed, and come down here at night, asked Pete Warboys to help him—”
“But he did not know Pete Warboys.”
“Only a little, uncle; he had seen him. He might have asked him to get him the ladder.”
“Might, Tom; but that looks doubtful. Well?”
“And then, as I could not find out that anything else was stolen—or taken,” said Tom, correcting himself, “except those papers, I thought that it must have been Cousin Sam.”
“Nothing else stolen but those papers?—you mean the packet you saw me put in the drawer here?”
“Yes, uncle, in the big envelope. There was nothing else taken but them, and some of the other papers.”
“Sure, Tom?”
“Yes, quite sure, uncle; and this made me think that nobody else was likely to take them—nobody else would care to do such a thing. But, uncle—”