“Mr. Howard,” said the newcomer, depositing his hat on the table, and helping himself to a chair, “the whole thing is out on you, and you want to make your stay in this country as short as you possibly can.”
“Bless my soul!” cried Uncle Bob. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Evans looked sharply into the man’s face before he made any reply. He must have been satisfied with what he saw there, for he said to himself:
“This man is in no way mixed up in this dreadful affair. Arthur and Sam are at the bottom of it, but he will have to go, all the same, for the boys never can be made to believe that he is innocent.” Then, aloud, he continued, “It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that Arthur has got himself into serious trouble, and that he is as good as lynched already.”
Uncle Bob’s face grew as pale as death. He sank helplessly back in his chair, and his hands fell by his side.
“Not—not my Arthur?” he gasped.
“Yes, your son Arthur, the very boy who tried to rob that safe last night.”
“It’s false!” cried Uncle Bob, with a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to look indignant. “My son never tried to rob my safe.”
Mr. Evans smiled incredulously.
He had had his doubts on that point, but he had none now. Uncle Bob’s face told him that Ike’s story was all true.