“I don’t know as I blame him much, being the kind of man he is. I’m his son, but money is his god. I asked for money, and he didn’t want to give it to me.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Well, I was in need of money then. Now I’m not. Do you see that?”
He drew from his vest pocket the roll of counterfeit notes which had been intrusted to him, and showed it to Paul.
“That doesn’t look as if I was in want of money, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Paul admitted. In truth he was surprised at this unexpected wealth on the part of his companion, and it occurred to him to wonder whether he had engaged in another burglary in which he had been more successful.
“No, I didn’t get it in the way you think,” he said, answering Paul’s suspicious thought. “I got it in the way of business. Now will you tell me where my father lives?”
“I can’t without his permission.”
“Then tell him that I don’t want any money from him. I am able to pay my own way now.”
“He says he is poor.”