He staggered to a stump close by, and sitting down, buried his face in his hands. What was he to do? He had but twenty-five dollars left.
"Who can have taken it?" he asked himself with feverish agitation.
He rose and made his way mechanically back to the boat.
An hour later he staggered into the little cottage occupied by his sick partner. His hair was disheveled, his manner wild.
"What is the matter, Bowman?" asked Sinclair.
"We are ruined!" said Bowman in a hollow voice. "The bonds are gone!"
"When did you miss them?" asked Sinclair quickly.
"To-day. They were safe yesterday. Do you think it was the boy?"
"What could he know of the bonds? Did you ever speak to him about them?"
"Of course not. What shall I do?"