“I can’t, just yet,” protested Kellogg. “The money is not on Toby’s person and he won’t tell where he’s hid it. But be calm, Mrs. Ritchie; be calm and trust to me. When the case comes to trial I know a way to make Clark confess, and I’ll get every cent of your money and the missing paper, I promise you.”
“I don’t trust you,” declared the old woman. “I think you’re as big a villain as Toby Clark. I hired you ’cause you agreed to catch the thief and get my property back or you wouldn’t charge a cent. I made you sign that agreement in black an’ white.”
“Quite true, Mrs. Ritchie; but give me time. I’ve got the thief, and I’ve recovered part of your property! Give me time and I’ll get the money and the bonds. The boy can’t spend anything while he’s in jail and sooner or later he’ll confess where he’s hid the stuff.”
“If you hadn’t caught the thief,” rejoined Mrs. Ritchie, savagely, “I could have held the Fergusons responsible. Now they’re out of it and if you don’t get the money from Toby it’s gone for good. I want that paper, too.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll get it all; give me time,” repeated the lawyer.
Mr. Holbrook, on the other side of the case, was proceeding very leisurely. Orders had been received to have the prisoner brought to Bayport for a preliminary examination, and soon after Sam Parsons had left the jail with his charge, taking him in a buggy over to the county seat, the young lawyer and Mr. Spaythe started for the same place in the banker’s automobile with Eric Spaythe, the banker’s only son, acting as driver.
“This latest discovery looks very black for our client,” remarked Holbrook, as they sped over the smooth country road.
“Do you refer to the finding of those papers?” asked Mr. Spaythe.
“Of course, sir. It’s rather damning evidence.”
“I cannot see that it is any worse than the finding of the box,” asserted the banker.