“James wouldn’t steal it. He is a gentleman.”
“So gentlemen don’t steal?” sneered Temple. “I am not sure about that. I know one thing. I’ve lost the box, and one of you has got it.”
It occurred to Temple that it was more likely to be Congreve, who was older and bolder than the boy he had captured, but he was not disposed to let Philip go, nevertheless.
Again Philip denied the charge, but this time Temple did not answer.
At length they reached the hut, and entered.
Now came the critical moment. What was this bad man going to do with him? Philip asked himself.
He was dragged into the hut, and then, for the first time, his captor relaxed his grip.
“Sit down there,” he said, pointing to a wooden chair, from which the paint had all worn off.
Philip sat down.
“Now, if you dare to stir or try to escape I’ll kill you,” said Temple, coolly.