“I had that five hundred dollars pretty well spent,” he said. “I’d bought everything with it from a new pair of skates to an automobile. And now I don’t get a red cent!”
Then, as Fred was about to say something bitter and cutting, Piper braced up suddenly.
“Look here, old man,” he exclaimed, with an air of sincerity that surely seemed genuine, “for all of my confidence that I had that money as good as nailed, I’ve been feeling pretty rotten. I don’t suppose you believe me, but it’s a fact. I’ve been mighty sorry about the whole business since you talked to me a while ago at the bridge. Now, even though I’ve lost the five hundred, I’m feeling better. Say, Fred, you must be ready to blow up with joy. Just think of it! Your brother is alive, and he’s innocent. You have the proof. Old fellow, I congratulate you.”
“Thanks,” returned Fred, a bit coldly. “I’m glad you have the decency to say that much.”
“There’s only one hope left for me now,” said Sleuth. “The bank is out twenty thousand dollars in securities, and I believe I can put my hand on the thief. Anyhow, that will be a feather in my cap.”
At eleven o’clock that forenoon, while the officials of the bank were in consultation in the directors’ room, the door-man appeared and stated that there was a boy outside who insisted that he could tell who had robbed the institution.
“It’s one of the boys who helped catch the wounded burglar,” he said. “His name is Piper.”
“Admit him,” directed Urian Eliot.
Sleuth entered, bearing himself well. His eyes roved swiftly over the assembled officials until they rested upon Lucius Timmick, who sat huddled on a chair at one side of the great oak table.