Jim is not likely ever to forget that tiny fraction of his life. His master stood by his side; Mr. Farrant seated himself on the counter; no one spoke, and the only sound to break the silence was the monotonous ticking of the watch.
Five minutes—and then? The boy dared not think of it. He was pale and deadly cold, but he tried to stand firm, to hold himself erect, so that his employer should not think he was afraid.
"Two minutes more," said the stationer gravely, and then—"One minute more. Now, Hartland, seize your chance before it is too late."
Mr. Farrant slid to the ground; evidently he had quite made up his mind how the affair would end. Mr. Broad took the watch from the counter, replaced it in his pocket, and waited for the boy to answer.
Jim looked helplessly from one to the other of the two men. What could he say? How could he prove his innocence? No magistrate would believe his story, and, as likely as not, Curly would deny it, in order to save himself. A boy of Curly's doubtful character was not likely to admit being in possession of a stolen sixpence.
"It is no good," said he wearily; "I have told the truth. I am not a thief, Mr. Broad. I have never stolen a ha'penny in my life, either from you or from any one else."
CHAPTER XIII.
AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE.
When Dick Boden set off after the two boys he had no definite object in view beyond keeping them in sight. As yet he did not quite grasp the meaning of what he had seen, though his suspicions were fully aroused.
Curly and his companion displayed no particular hurry in getting clear of the neighbourhood. They strolled along quietly, and without attracting attention, for the street was deserted, and the only light was that thrown out by the public lamps.