"Were you implicated in it?" was the next question.
Tony Denton smiled a peculiar smile.
"No, I wasn't," he answered. "If I had been, I don't think I should have called upon you about the matter. But—I think I know who robbed the bank."
"Who, then?" demanded the squire, with an uneasy look.
Tony Denton rose from his chair, advanced to the door, which was a little ajar, and closed it. Then he resumed.
"One night late—it was after midnight—I was taking a walk, having just closed my saloon, when it happened that my steps led by the bank. It was dark—not a soul probably in the village was awake save myself, when I saw the door of the bank open and a muffled figure came out with a tin box under his arm. I came closer, yet unobserved, and peered at the person. I recognized him."
"You recognized him?" repeated the squire, mechanically, his face pale and drawn.
"Yes; do you want to know who it was?"
Prince Duncan stared at him, but did not utter a word.
"It was you, the president of the bank!" continued Denton.