"Good!" replied the man, putting his arm through that of the boy and moving up Catherine street as he spoke. "I flatter myself I can read men's faces as well as the next, and that is why I have determined to place confidence in you. I may deem it my duty to arrest you yet. Very likely I shall; but before I do so I am going to have a quiet talk with you, when I'm certain you'll see the advantage of telling me the whole truth about this bank affair, and in order that we may be undisturbed I propose to take you to my own room, which, fortunately, is not far off."
Now the room occupied by Caleb Hook—for he was a bachelor, and had no one to care for but himself—was situated in a respectable lodging-house in Madison street, between Montgomery and Clinton.
Ten minutes later the detective himself entered the apartment, followed by the youthful assistant cashier of the Webster National Bank.
It was a large room on the second floor of the house.
The furniture was modern and abundant, giving to the interior a thoroughly comfortable air.
Locking the door behind him and lighting a handsome drop-light, Detective Hook touched a match to a fire already laid in the open grate, which in a moment broke into a cheerful blaze.
"Now then, young man," he said, pulling off his overcoat, and drawing up a comfortable easy chair, "you are my guest for the present, whether I conclude to turn you over to the authorities later on or not. Sit down there, and make yourself at home."
Frank seated himself wearily and remained gazing at the fire without reply.
Meanwhile, Caleb Hook studied his face in silence.
"Was that woman really your mother?" he said at length.