GERALD SUFFERS AN INDIGNITY.
There was a dead silence in that gloomy place for the space of a full minute after John Hubbard’s terrible announcement.
“It cannot be possible!” Gerald finally gasped, as he staggered back against the side of the vault, almost paralyzed from horror. As he did so, the topmost box in his hands slipped from his grasp, and fell with a crash to the floor.
The lock was either broken or forced from its socket by the concussion, and the lid flew back, thus disclosing to the curious eyes of John Hubbard various articles of valuable jewelry.
“Aha! diamonds! pearls! rubies and emeralds!” he exclaimed, as he stooped to examine them more closely. “Truly, young man, you were taking time by the forelock to feather your nest before an inventory could be taken of your employer’s effects.”
“What do you mean, sir?” he exclaimed, starting forward, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Do you dare assert that I knew that Mr. Brewster was not living, and stole here to rob him?”
“I am forced to admit that it looks very much like it,” was the deliberate and cruel response.
A terrible shock went quivering through Gerald at these words, for he realized but too well that the man would do his utmost to injure him by putting the worst possible construction upon the situation.
“You know better!” he cried, hot indignation and resentment flaming up within him; “you know I would not touch a penny that did not belong to me.”
“Ahem! that all sounds very well, my would-be paragon of honor,” sneered the expert, “but you will have to prove it, you know.”