“You—scoundrel!” he hissed between his closed teeth.
“You seem excited,” sneered Stark. “Is it possible that you object to the search?”
“If the missing box is found on my premises,” said Gibbon, in a white heat, “it is because you have concealed it there.”
Phil Stark shrugged his shoulders.
“I think, gentlemen,” he said, “that settles it. I am afraid Mr Gibbon is guilty. I shall be glad to assist you to recover the stolen property. Did the box contain much that was of value?”
“I must caution you both against saying anything that will compromise you,” said one of the officers.
“I have nothing to conceal,” went on Stark, brazenly. “I am obliged to believe that this man committed the burglary. It is against me that I have been his companion for the last week or two, but I used to know him, and that will account for it.”
The unhappy bookkeeper saw the coils closing around him.
“I hope you will see your way to release me,” said Stark, addressing himself to Mr. Jennings. “I have just received information that my poor mother is lying dangerously sick in Cleveland, and I am anxious to start for her bedside to-day.”
“Why did you come round here this morning?” asked Mr. Jennings.