“Your instinct was quite correct, my esteemed sister. Well, this afternoon, being left alone in the house, I thought I would search Henry’s room, being influenced chiefly by missing a small amount of money a day or two since.”
“Did you find it in the boy’s room?” asked Lucinda, eagerly.
“No; he was too shrewd to leave money around. The young rascal has a long head, and, I must admit, is unusually smart. I didn’t find any money, but on opening the drawer of his dressing table, tucked away in a corner, I saw a savings-bank book. I thought it was his, but on examining it I discovered your name. Of course I opened it, and that is the way I found how much money you had.”
“But what could the boy want with the book?” asked Brackett.
“He intended to forge an order and draw some of the money as soon as he went to Jefferson.”
“He was to go there to-morrow with father,” ejaculated Mrs. Brackett.
“Just so! He’s in with the old man, and no wonder. Do you know who he is?”
“I don’t know anything beyond his name,” said Brackett.
“You don’t know that!” said White, triumphantly. “His name is not Henry Miller at all.”
“What is it, George?” asked Mrs. Brackett, eagerly.