"Then they pinched you on the premises?" says I. "I rather thought from what Helma said you'd been to see her that night?"
"Not since the night before," says he. "Helma was down in the kitchen with Cook when they came."
"Huh!" says I, rubbin' my chin as a help to deep thought. "The night before?"
I don't know why, either, but somehow that makes me think of sawdust, and from sawdust—say, I had it in a flash.
"Sorry, Allston," says I, "but on account of Helma I was kind of in hopes they was just makin' a goat of you. She's a cute youngster—Helma."
"She is all I have to live for, Sir," says he, bowin' his head.
"Then why take such chances as this?" says I. "Twenty thousand! Say, you know this ain't any jay burg. You can't expect to get away with a wad like that."
"I know nothing about the money," says he, stiffenin' up. "They'll have to find it to prove I took it."
"Big mistake No. 2," says I. "They got to convict somebody, and the arrow points to you. About fifteen years would be my guess. Now come, Allston, what good would you be after fifteen years' hard?"
He shivers, but shrugs his shoulders dogged. "Poor little Helma!" says he. "Where is she?"