“Steady, father. Remember about mother. She does not know. I kept her diverted while they took him away. You must be strong. We must continue as long as possible to hide the truth from her.”
“But it will all come out now,” groaned the old man, his shoulders drooping more than ever. “It’s my fault—my fault! Why didn’t I let the boy go yesterday? I am to blame!”
“No one is to blame, father. It’s just fate. It had to come.”
“But—but if they find he’s not one of the robbers—if he can prove that he’s not,” said Andrew Sage eagerly, “perhaps they will let him go.”
“That’s my only hope, and it’s a slim one, father. We mustn’t base too much upon it.” Even as he said this, Fred realized how futile that hope was. For had not Sleuth Piper, by prying and spying, learned the truth, which would mean full exposure for Clarence? Still, it was not best to let Andrew Sage know at present how desperate the situation was.
“I’m going into town and see what can be done,” said Fred. “You’re completely upset, father, but still you must keep it from mother. If they capture the other robbers there may yet be a chance—a very small chance—for Clarence.”
“It’s fate,” mumbled Mr. Sage, repeating the words the boy had spoken a few moments before—“fate! It would have been better had he never come here; better had he left us in ignorance that he was alive.”
He swayed, and Fred clutched his arm, again entreating him to brace up.
“I’m tired, tired!” sighed old Andrew Sage, his face drawn and haggard. “I must rest.”
Alarmed, Fred said, “I’ll help you to the house.”