“Missed your train!”
“Yes, so I would have. I wonder if it would have made any difference? I fancy it’s best the way it all happened.” He considered the subject for a moment in silence. Anthony beamed across at him happily. He was glad he was to get his watch back, but gladder still that the last doubt as to Jack’s honesty was dispelled; and, oh, so very glad that Jack knew nothing of his idiotic suspicions!
“There’s something I ought to tell you, Anthony,” said Jack suddenly. He looked rather ashamed and apologetic and very serious. “I’ve thought of owning up several times, but—I never did,” he continued.
“Owning up? Well—what is it, Jack? Murder?”
“No, it’s—it’s robbery!” Anthony stared.
“That morning I went away,” he continued, “I—I took something of yours with me. It wasn’t much, but I shouldn’t have taken it.”
“Why, what was it?” Anthony asked wonderingly. “I haven’t missed anything.”
“No; but then, I put it back afterward. It was a pencil.”
“A pencil!”
“Yes, the green one with the rubber tip; the one you used to have on your desk. I—I wanted something to remember you by,” he added shamefacedly. “And so I took that. I thought you wouldn’t care. I was going to write and tell you when I got home.”