"Yes."
The boy had burst into tears, burying his face in his hands.
"Poor fellow!" said the detective, sympathizingly, putting his hand gently upon his shoulder, "I had a mother once, whom I loved better than any one in the world. Dear me! she died a dozen years ago.
"You've had a great deal of trouble," he added, after a short pause. "I can see that at a glance. Now, do you know, Frank, that two-thirds of the scrapes people get themselves into come from lying? Suppose your mother were to speak to you now? Don't you think she would advise you to tell me all you know about this bank affair? Come, now, I'm sure she would."
"She would as she once was," replied Frank, bitterly; "but my mother has been insane for the last five years, and in an asylum. God only knows how she came to escape to meet her death to-night."
"Tell me all about it, my boy, tell me all about it," said Hook, familiarly, and in the most sympathizing tones. "If there is any way in the world to help you, count on me every time."
It was the favorite motto of this famous man that to understand the motive of a criminal it was only necessary to lead him to believe that your sympathy lay wholly with himself.
Personally, he fully believed the boy before him to have had a hand in the bank robbery.
Nor was this strange.
Had he not caught him almost in the act?