"If he's guilty, he's a good actor," thought Mr. Farrant, who was watching the puzzled look on the boy's face.
"Count the money in the till, Hartland—it won't take a century to do," said Mr. Broad, who intended to be sarcastic.
"Fourpence ha'penny, sir," said Jim promptly.
Without a word the stationer drew a notebook from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the table. On the top of the page was a circle with a star in the centre, drawn in ink. Underneath was written, "One florin, 1884. One shilling, 1885. One sixpence, 1861. Sevenpence ha'penny in coppers. Silver all marked as above."
"That," said Mr. Broad, speaking very slowly and gravely, "is the amount of money in the till when I left the shop. Here"—pointing to the few coppers—"is fourpence ha'penny. Where is the rest?"
Jim's face became white as death, and he trembled violently. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, a film gathered before his eyes, his throat was parched, and he could not utter a word.
"Come," repeated his master sternly; "I must have an answer to my question. Where is the missing money?"
"I don't know, sir," answered Jim huskily.
"That's rubbish. No one but you has been in the shop."
"Only Johnson."