“Perhaps it is.”
Very seriously Benson, fumbling in his vest pocket, advanced to the table and pulled out the left-hand drawer. Then he thrust his hand into the aperture.
“Feel anything?” asked Wayne.
“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” He withdrew his hand and held up a two-dollar bill. “Isn’t that luck?”
“Yes indeed,” replied Wayne unsmilingly. “And I’m awfully glad you found it. I’ll tell Merton, and get him to tell the others.”
“I wish you would. And I’ll tell Barrow right away. I suppose I put it into the drawer and forgot about it, and then it got pushed out at the back. I should think that was the way it happened, eh?”
“Must be,” answered Wayne. “Well, I’ll get out now. Awfully much obliged to you, Benson, for—for hunting it. And I hope you’ll forget anything I said that wasn’t——”
“That’s all right, Gordon; forget it yourself. Glad you came in.”
Wayne hurried away to his room for a book, and on the way he pondered over Benson’s story. Of course, Benson might have been mistaken, but Wayne couldn’t blame him in his heart for suspecting Gray, under the circumstances. Had Gray really taken the money? He was hard up at the time, undoubtedly; and perhaps the temptation had been too great for him. On the other hand, Carl Gray didn’t look like a fellow that would give way to temptation so easily, and he had kept every promise made to him. No, Gray hadn’t taken the money, Wayne concluded, and he hoped that the story would not reach his ears.