"Can you explain," she said somewhat coldly, for she felt she was suffering a professional rebuke, "what those men below us are printing, if not counterfeit money?"
"I can," said he.
"And you have been down there, investigating?"
"Not yet," he answered coolly.
"Then you must be theorizing, Daddy."
"Not at all. If you know you have two marbles in one pocket and two more in another pocket, you may be positive there are four altogether, whether you bother to count them individually or not."
She pondered this, trying to understand what he meant.
"You don't know old Cragg as well as I do," she asserted.
"Let us argue that point," he said quickly. "What do you know about him?"
"I know him to be an eccentric old man, educated and shrewd, with a cruel and murderous temper; I know that he has secluded himself in this half-forgotten town for many years, engaged in some secret occupation which he fears to have discovered. I am sure that he is capable of any crime and therefore—even if that bill is good—I am none the less positive that counterfeiting is his business. No other supposition fits the facts in the case."