“That ain’t it,” he blurted suddenly. “That was bad enough, but I’ve done worse than that.”
The colonel’s face sobered and Norman’s eyes turned toward the heap of personal belongings just outside the cabin door. Paul’s trembling arm motioned toward these boxes and bags.
“I’ve got a case of brandy out there and I’ve got to tell you how I’ve lied to you.”
“Hardly that!” protested Colonel Howell. “You hadn’t spoken to me of it.”
“No, I didn’t,” confessed Paul, his voice trembling, “but I just heard you say we hadn’t anything like that with us and I might as well have lied, because I had it.”
“Did that sergeant of police know this?” broke in Roy. “I thought he examined everything. He certainly said we were all right.”
“Yes, he knew it,” answered Paul, “but he isn’t to blame. Don’t think I’m making that an excuse.”
Colonel Howell sat with downcast eyes and an expression of pain on his face.
“Why did you do it?” he asked in a low tone at last. “Did you mean to hide it from me?”
“No, no,” exclaimed his young guest. “I don’t know why I did it. I don’t want it. I’m going to quit all that. That’s why I came up here. You know that, Colonel Howell—don’t you believe me?”