"I've some'ut to do—and to-night. Shall I take yer 'ome first, or wull yer come with me?"
"Oh, I will come with you, father," said Connie.
"Wull then, come along."
They walked far—almost as far as Cheapside. Connie could not imagine why her father was taking her into a certain dingy street, and why he suddenly stopped at a door which had not yet been shut for the night.
"I thought as there were a chance of findin' him up," he said. "Come right in, gel."
Connie entered, and the next minute Harris was addressing the pawnbroker from whom he had stolen the locket.
"I 'ave a word to say with you," he remarked; and then he related the circumstances of that day, several weeks ago now.
"But we found it," said the pawnbroker, "in the pocket of the young gel."
"It was I as put it there," said Harris. "It was I—the meanest wretch on 'arth. But I've come to my senses at last. You can lock me up ef yer like. I'll stay 'ere; I won't even leave the shop ef yer want to deliver the real thief over to justice."
The pawnbroker stared at the man; then he looked at Connie. There is no saying what he might have done; but Connie's face, with its pleading expression, was enough to disarm any one.