Yet neither of them realized the likeness. All their thought was eaten up by a growing antagonism, antagonism in one that was well-nigh murderous, and in the other, simply that of a man, who finds himself pre-judged, found guilty and sentenced for some crime of which he is wholly ignorant and innocent.
Hendrie caught at the retort with lessening restraint. He pointed at the open safe and the bundle of notes which Frank still clutched in his hand.
"Red-handed," he said. Then as the incredulous youth made a movement of protest, the other's hand slipped round to his hip pocket with a movement not to be mistaken. "Don't move," he said quickly.
Hendrie's command had instant effect. Frank stood quite still. Then his appalled amazement found sudden and violent expression.
"Good God!" he cried. "What do you mean? Do you take me for—a low-down thief?"
Hendrie's eyes never once relaxed their cruel stare.
"What are you then?"
Frank glanced at the open safe, and his horrified eyes came back to the pile of notes he was still grasping.
"You mean——" he began. Then indignation overcame every other feeling. "This money was——"
Again he broke off, and this time a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead. Only just in time did he realize what the admission he was about to make would entail. Suddenly he beheld the hideous trap gaping to ensnare him.