Micky received this intelligence with dismay. Somehow it had got out that he was the real thief, and he began to think that his chance of getting off was small. Just then, while in custody of the policeman, he saw advancing towards him the man who had inveigled him into the plot,—Gilbert, the book-keeper. His anger against Gilbert overcame his prudence, and he said, "Well, if I did take the pocket-book, I was paid for doin' it, and that was the man that hired me."
With some surprise, the policeman listened to this story.
"If you don't believe me, just wait till I speak to him."
"Mr. Gilbert!" called Micky.
Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up, and, rapidly understanding what had happened, determined upon his course.
"Who speaks to me?" he said, quietly.
"You've got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert," said Micky, "and I want you to get me out of it."
"What does he mean?" asked Gilbert, coolly, addressing the policeman.
"You hired me to steal a man's pocket-book, and I'm took up for it," said Micky. "I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the Island."
"The boy must be crazy," said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders.