"Isn't it counterfeit?" she asked, trying to swallow a big lump that rose in her throat.
"It is one of the recent issues, good as gold."
She sat silent, rigid with disappointment. Never had she been as miserable as at this moment. She felt like crying, and a sob really did become audible in spite of her effort to suppress it. Again O'Gorman passed his arm affectionately around her waist and held her close while she tried to think what it all meant.
"Was that bill your only basis of suspicion, dear?" he presently inquired.
"No, indeed. Do you hear that noise? What are they doing down there?"
"I imagine they are running a printing press," he replied.
"Exactly!" she said triumphantly. "And why do these men operate a printing press in a secret cavern, unless they are printing counterfeit money?"
"Ah, there you have allowed your imagination to jump," returned her father. "Haven't I warned you against the danger of imagination? It leads to theory, and theory leads—nine times in ten—to failure."
"Circumstantial evidence is often valuable," declared Josie.
"It often convicts," he admitted, "but I am never sure of its justice. Whenever facts are obtainable, I prefer facts."