Could he hope to win the hand of Edna Callister after such a fatal slip as this?
What was he to do?
What should he say?
Ah, if he had but heeded the warning voice of that mother who had knelt before him in the snow!
But no! He had for the meanest of motives, money, been willing to violate the confidence and trust reposed in him by the officers of the bank, and this was his reward.
Not without his fair share of natural shrewdness, Frank at once perceived that his only hope lay in silence and a strict adhesion to the story he had told, which to a certain extent was true.
He had come to the bank with Cutts—as for his reason for so doing, he determined to keep that to himself, for the present, at least.
"Well," said the detective, "why don't you speak?"
"Because I've nothing to say. I've told you all I know."
"Do you persist in the statement that you came here with Mr. Cutts?"