"Oh, husband!" cried the poor wife, throwing herself into a chair and weeping bitterly.
"Mr. Randall knows I haven't taken his money," protested the ferryman stoutly.
"Don't cry, marm," said the sheriff, moved by the distress of the afflicted wife. "Nothing has been proved yet, and for all I know, your husband may be as honest as any man in Essex County."
"I've always been an honest man, and I always expect to be," added the culprit. "I haven't got the money. If any of you think I have, why don't you do something about it—not try to frighten my wife?"
Mr. Wilford was searched by the sheriff and constable, but the money was not upon his person. The house was then carefully examined, but with no different result.
"Do you know anything about this business, Lawry?" said the sheriff, when the search was completed.
"I don't think he had anything to do with it," interposed Mr. Randall. "The boy helped me look for the pocketbook, and behaved very handsomely; but I didn't like the looks of his father."
"What did your father say just before we came?" asked the sheriff.
Lawry was stupefied with grief and shame. He knew not what to say, and he dropped his head upon the table, and sobbed like a little child.
"Things look bad, Mr. Wilford. Your wife and Lawry know more than they are willing to tell," continued the officer.