“That's what you say, Jack,” answered Roy good-naturedly; "I would like to see you do as well, anyway.”
Jack Beecham was not in earnest. Henning had caught him winking to the others while decrying his work.
“Well,” continued Roy, as he put his hand again into the drawer, “I would not ask Mr. John Beauchamps—to draw—for me—a—a barn door—Great heavens! Where's that money! I can't feel it anywhere in the drawer,”
All this time Henning's forearm was in the drawer and his fingers were nervously searching for the bag.
“Give yourself more room. Open the drawer wider, you goose,” said Beecham.
Henning pushed back his chair so suddenly that it fell. He pulled out the drawer to its full length. Then taking out the contents of the drawer he put them excitedly on the table. There was a large leather blotter, with pouches, a pad of athletic club letterheads, a lot of spoiled half sheets of foolscap, about a quire of clean paper, and a few small miscellaneous articles.
“Did you have the money in a purse?”asked Bracebridge, who could not keep his anxiety out of his voice.
“No; it was in one if those yellow bank canvas bags.”
“Look again through the pile of papers and be sure it is not there.”