“Then it seems you have one, Lucinda. So I thought.”
“I have a small account in the bank, I admit,” said Mrs. Brackett. “But it’s only a few dollars.”
“Didn’t I tell you I had seen the book? Why do you try to deceive me?”
“Then you have been to my bureau.”
“It isn’t in your bureau.”
“Then where is it? Have you got it with you?”
“No,” assured White, unblushingly. “But I know where it is.”
“Where is it?” asked his sister, nervously.
“I must tell you the story, and then you will understand how I came to find out about your deposit. That boy of yours, Henry Miller, I distrusted as soon as I saw him. I couldn’t place him, but I was convinced I had seen him somewhere, and that his character was bad.”
“Just what I always thought!” ejaculated Mrs. Brackett, profoundly gratified at hearing something to Andy’s discredit.