“Believing you were the culprit at Galloway’s.”
Hamish raised his eyebrows. “The extraordinary part of that, sir, is, how you could have imagined such a thing of me.”
“Hamish, I shall always think so myself in future. But I have this justification—that I was not alone in the belief. Some of your family, who might be supposed to know you better than I, entertained the same opinion.”
“Yes; Constance and Arthur. But are you sure, sir, that it was not their conduct that first induced you to suspect me?”
“Right, lad. Their conduct—I should rather say their manner—was inexplicably mysterious, and it induced me to ferret out its cause. That they were screening some one, was evident, and I could only come to the conclusion that it was you. But, Master Hamish, there were circumstances on your own part which tended to strengthen the belief,” added Mr. Huntley, his tone becoming lighter. “Whence sprang that money wherewith you satisfied some of your troublesome creditors, just at that same time?”
Once more, as when it was alluded to before, a red flush dyed the face of Hamish. Certainly, it could not be a flush of guilt, while that ingenuous smile hovered on his lips. But Hamish seemed attacked with sudden shyness. “Your refusal to satisfy me on this point, when we previously spoke of it, tended to confirm my suspicions,” continued Mr. Huntley. “I think you might make a confidant of me, Hamish. That money could not have dropped from the clouds; and I am sure you possessed no funds of your own just then.”
“But neither did I steal it. Mr. Huntley”—raising his eyes to that gentleman’s face—“how closely you must have watched me and my affairs!”
Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. “Perhaps I had my own motives for doing so, young sir.”
“I earned the money,” said Hamish, who probably penetrated into Mr. Huntley’s “motives;” at any rate, he hoped he did so. “I earned it fairly and honourably, by my own private and special industry.”
Mr. Huntley opened his eyes. “Private and special industry! Have you turned shoemaker?”