Arthur smiled. “Don’t you see? believing that you had taken it, I thought you must know whether I was innocent or guilty. And, for your sake, I did not dare to defend myself to others. Had only a breath of suspicion fallen upon you, Hamish, it might have cost my father his post.”
“What induced you to suspect me? Surely not the simple fact of being alone for a few minutes with the letter in Galloway’s office?”
“Not that. That alone would have been nothing; but, coupled with other circumstances, it assumed a certain weight. Hamish, I will tell you. Do you remember the trouble you were in at the time—owing money in the town?”
A smile parted Hamish’s lips; he seemed half inclined to make fun of the reminiscence. “I remember it well enough. What of that?”
“You contrived to pay those debts, or partially pay them, at the exact time the note was taken; and we knew you had no money of your own to do it with. We saw you also with gold in your purse—through Annabel’s tricks, do you remember?—and we knew that it could not be yours—legitimately yours, I mean.”
Hamish’s smile turned into a laugh. “Stop a bit, Arthur. The money with which I paid up, and the gold you saw, was mine; legitimately mine. Don’t speak so fast, old fellow.”
“But where did it come from, Hamish?”
“It did not come from Galloway’s office, and it did not drop from the skies,” laughed Hamish. “Never mind where else it came from. Arthur boy, I wish you had been candid, and had given me a hint of your suspicion.”
“We were at cross purposes, as you observe,” repeated Arthur. “Once plunge into them, and there’s no knowing when enlightenment will come; perhaps never. But you were not very open with me.”
“I was puzzled,” replied Hamish. “You may remember that my seeing a crowd round the Guildhall, was the first intimation I received of the matter. When they told me, in answer to my questions, that my brother, Arthur Channing, was taken up on suspicion of stealing a bank-note, and was then under examination, I should have laughed in their faces, but for my inclination to knock them down. I went into that hall, Arthur, trusting in your innocence as implicitly as I trusted in my own, boiling over with indignation against all who had dared to accuse you, ready to stand up for you against the world. I turned my eyes upon you as you stood there, and your gaze met mine. Arthur, what made you look so? I never saw guilt—or perhaps I would rather say shame, conscious shame—shine out more palpably from any countenance than it did from yours then. It startled me—it cowed me; and, in that moment, I did believe you guilty. Why did you look so?”