“I thought not. And I suppose you know nothing of the boy who was seen to have gone through that window on the night of the play?”
“No.”
“Oh, no! Of course not. I suppose, too, there are half a dozen boys who sport sky-blue sweaters to make themselves conspicuous.”
Henning waited a moment and Garrett said:
“It is no one's concern but my own what I wear.”
“Well, my dear, affectionate cousin, that blue sweater was seen—seen, mind—that night to go through that window and come out again.”
Garrett started violently. Henning took the motion for an admission of guilt, but Garrett had no intention of making such acknowledgment. Indeed he became as angry as Henning was.
“Whether I am guilty or not, a question I absolutely decline to discuss, do you think, you jackanapes, that I would admit it to you? Not if I know myself. Do you think I am going to swallow whole a story like that? You must think I am dreadfully green, or dreadfully afraid of you. If you have evidence, bring it forward. That you can, and will
not, is to me, permit me to say, all buncombe. Bah! You weary me! Do what you can and what you dare,”
Snapping his fingers with a show of righteous indignation, Garrett walked away. If the boy were guilty, if it were he who was seen to enter the room through that window on the night of the theft, he now acquitted himself of a splendid piece of acting. If he were innocent, then his indignation were natural. Henning would then have to acknowledge that he had done him a gross injustice. But Roy was firmly convinced that his cousin had brazened the thing out. He regretted that he had let him know that he would not compel him to make an acknowledgment of his guilt. Roy had never expected that he would do so. All he required from his cousin was that he would speak in his favor and make an effort to turn the tide of opinion, trusting in his friends for the rest.