“I don’t think so,” I gently observed in correction. “You dropped it the night before.”
“What! do you mean to say you found it there?” he cried, his whole face becoming white with fury.
“It was found,” I oracularly returned; and then, taking my advice, he relapsed into silence, and quietly accompanied me.
Of course the mother had to go too, but she was speedily released, as it was quite evident, from her artless admission to me, that she knew nothing of the robbery, and her character was above suspicion.
Jim did not deny his knife. He only said occasionally under his breath—“He has done it! Wait; I’ll give it him back!”
His suspicion, which was probably sound, was that Joe had picked his pocket of the knife, and then made some errand into the shop, and so managed to drop the tell-tale article where it was likely to be found.
From these muttered imprecations I guessed that Joe was his partner in the crime, and went for him as soon as Jim was locked up. An ordinary thief would have betrayed his pal at once after such dastardly treatment, but, as I have indicated, there was about Jim a kind of manliness which scorned such a mean revenge. He remained absolutely silent regarding Joe’s complicity, and, as that rascal was cunning enough to take care of himself, we had no evidence against him, and he was released.
In order to have his sentence shortened Jim pleaded guilty, and got off with eighteen months’ imprisonment.
“When your term is up, Jim, go for a soldier,” I whispered to him as he was led down stairs.
“Maybe I will—it depends,” he grimly answered with set teeth, and so he disappeared for a year and a half’s moody reflection.