"I have been informed that a man of your build passed Filbon's house last night going not toward Broadway, but away from it."
Such had been the account given by the patrolman.
Leonard appeared relieved by the statement. "The man may have resembled me in build," he said. "Probably there are thousands in this city who do, but, all the same, I was not the man."
"How do you account for Dashwood's absence?" said Nick, after a pause.
Leonard did not answer for a moment. He stroked his chin and frowned. When he spoke it was with a curious hesitancy.
"I hate to say it," he said, with a furtive glance at the detective's face, "but I can account for it only in one way. Dashwood has taken the money and made off with it."
"It's not so," said Nick, with a warmth that caused Leonard's cheeks to flush. "He is no thief. You—you cannot mean this, Mr. Leonard."
"Better men than he have fallen from grace," was the dogged response. "He might have been speculating and——"
"Not another word," interrupted Nick. "I won't hear it."
Leonard shrugged his heavy shoulders.