“Well—” Harry removed his gaze from the stamp long enough to fix it sternly on Cotton—“promise on your word of honor not to let any one else know if I tell you?”
“I promise, on my word of honor,” replied Cotton, emphatically, “never to breathe a word of it to any one as long as I live.”
“Then—then why do you want to know?” exploded Harry, impatiently. “That’s the funniest thing I ever heard of, Cotton!”
Cotton shook his head and smiled at his own weakness.
“Curiosity, Merrow, just as I told you. I’ve got an awful lot of curiosity. Once I want to know a thing I just can’t be satisfied until I do.” He smiled ingenuously across at Harry. Harry stared speculatively back. Finally——
“Well, if you promise on your word of honor—” He hesitated.
His gaze went back to the stamp. “Say,” he demanded with sudden suspicion, poking the stamp with his finger, “you’re sure that isn’t a forgery?”
“Forgery! Of course not!” replied the other, indignantly. “Why, look at the water-mark if you don’t believe me!” He held it to the light and then passed it to Harry. Harry looked and was satisfied.
“Well, then,” he began again, “I’ll tell you. There was Pennimore for one. They got him.”
“Yes!” said Cotton, eagerly, leaning nearer.