“Florence is a good friend to me. I never had so good a friend before.”
“All that is very affecting; however, it isn’t to the point. Do you know,” he continued, in a sterner tone, “that I could have you arrested for entering and breaking open my uncle’s desk with burglarious intent?”
“I suppose you could,” said Dodger; “but Florence would testify that I took nothing.”
“Am I to understand, then, that you refuse to give me any information as to the will and the money?”
“No, sir; I don’t refuse. I would tell you if I knew.”
Curtis regarded the boy in some perplexity.
He had every appearance of telling the truth.
Dodger had one of those honest, truthful countenances which lend confirmation to any words spoken. If the boy told the truth, what could have become of the will—and the money? As to the former, it might be possible that his uncle had destroyed it, but the disappearance of the money presented an independent difficulty.
“The will is all I care for,” he said, at length. “The thief is welcome to the money, though there was a considerable sum.”
“I would find the will for you if I could,” said Dodger, earnestly.