"Bert," said his mother slowly, "Mr. Robinson was not your father's friend. It was your father himself."
Bert looked the picture of astonishment.
"Why did you not tell me, mother?"
"How could I? You did not even know that he was alive. Ever since then I have been seeking an opportunity to tell you the truth."
"I am glad to know. What did father have to say?"
"He thinks he has found out—at any rate he has strong suspicions—who was the real thief for whom he suffered."
"Who is it, mother? Is it any one I ever knew?"
"Yes, Bert."
"Tell me quick."
"Then you must promise to keep it secret till we are in a condition to prove the truth of our suspicions. It was Albert Marlowe."