“You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Wade. I am not a thief. I never stole anything in my life.”
“It is very easy to say that,” sneered John Wade. “You and Mrs. Bradley were the only persons present when I showed the articles, and I suppose you won’t pretend that she stole them?”
“No, sir; though she appears to agree with you that I am a thief. I never thought of accusing her,” replied Frank.
“Mr. Wade,” said the housekeeper, “I feel that it is my duty to insist upon search being made in my room.”
“Do you make the same offer?” asked John Wade, turning to Frank.
“Yes, sir,” answered our hero, proudly. “I wish you to satisfy yourself that I am not a thief. If you will come to my room at once, Mr. Wade, you and Mrs. Bradley, I will hand you the key of my trunk.”
The two followed him upstairs, exulting wickedly in his discomfiture, which they had reason to forsee.
He handed his key to his artful enemy, and the latter bending over, opened the trunk, which contained all our hero’s small possessions.
He raised the pile of clothes, and, to Frank’s dismay, disclosed the missing pocketbook and sleeve-buttons in the bottom of the trunk.
“What have you got to say for yourself now, you young villain?” demanded John Wade, in a loud voice.