“What box—where was the box found?” queried Gerald, with breathless interest, his mind instantly reverting to one of those which he had taken from the secret vault at the banker’s command.
“I see you suspect the truth,” said John Hubbard, with a malicious grin. “Yes, it was one of those we caught you lugging off that Sunday.”
Gerald flushed at this fling, but he was too much absorbed in his own thoughts, just then, to pay much heed to it.
“Ah! I understand now!” he said; “that was why Mr. Brewster made me promise that I would never speak of my errand to any person. He wanted to get that box into his hands without having any one know of its existence—he meant to destroy the contents, so that Allison should never learn the truth.”
“It certainly looks like it; you reason very well, young man. But justice sometimes triumphs, as in this case,” sneered his companion.
“Justice!” repeated Gerald, with infinite scorn; “that is yet to be proved. But did no one question the genuineness of this woman’s proofs?”
“Oh, yes, there was some talk in that direction—there naturally would be,” returned the attorney, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. “But it didn’t amount to anything; the evidence was so conclusive it was promptly admitted by the court.”
“Where did this alleged marriage take place?” demanded Gerald.
“In New Haven, Connecticut.”