“I have no idea. Not Polly the maid, I’ll take my Davey; I have so often left money and things about, and never lost a halfpenny.”
That same Sunday Saurin and Edwards were standing with two or three others in the quadrangle, when Gould limped by.
“How is your ankle getting on, Gould?” one of the group called out.
“Better, thanks,” he replied, joining them. “I say, if it had kept me in yesterday afternoon Crawley might have thought I took the money! What a joke, eh? Fancy my wanting a paltry four pounds odd.”
“You were not in?” cried Edwards; and he could have bitten his tongue out immediately afterwards.
But the surprise was too great for his prudence. He and Saurin had gone to their own tutor’s house before repairing to the football field, you may remember, and that route did not pass the Fives Court. So that it was the first intimation Edwards had that Saurin lied when he said he had asked Gould for a loan, and been refused.
“No,” said Gould, looking at him in surprise; “what made you think I was?”
“Only your sprain,” said Edwards, recovering himself. “Some fellows were saying that if you were in, the thief must have trod very lightly for you not to have heard him, as your room is so near. But as you were out, and all the other fellows too, he had the coast clear, you know.”
“What is your idea about the whole thing, Saurin?” asked Gould; “you are a sharp chap.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Saurin. “I should not be very much surprised if the money turned up, and there proved to have been no robbery at all.”