“But the door was locked,” said Wentworth.
“True, but there is a window near your bed. There was no fastening, and it could be raised easily. And that reminds me,” he continued with a sudden thought, “I waked up during the night, that is I partially awakened, and thought I saw a figure near your bed in a stooping position. It must have been the thief going through your pockets.”
“Why didn’t you speak, father?”
“Because I was more asleep than awake, and my mind was too torpid to reason upon what I saw.”
“Did the figure remind you of anyone, father? What was it like?”
“A man of medium height, stout and broad-shouldered.”
Bradley Wentworth started, and a sudden conviction flashed upon him. The description tallied exactly with Jake Amsden, the man with whom he had had a conference the day before.
“Is there any such person who lives near by?” he asked.
“Yes, a worthless, dissipated fellow named Jake Amsden.”