With feverish haste the old man unlocked the desk and the brass-bound box within it. The latter contained all the missing property, evidently placed there for immediate removal. In the desk were found bills, letters, and correspondence, a glance at which disclosed a long system of fraud and peculation. Above all, amongst the loose papers were the letters that Robert sent to his father, and those which had been written by himself in repentance of the harsh parting which he had brought about with his lost son.
While they were both looking with mute astonishment at these evidences of Jaggers's villany, there came a low knocking at the door, and two men entered, one of them a broad, brown-bearded man in a half seafaring dress, the other a policeman.
"A clerk of yours, named Jaggers," said the latter. "I want to know whether he has robbed you, or if you have reason to suspect him. This party has given him in custody on another charge."
There was a loud scream, and Mrs. Harris fell into the arms of the stranger, who had taken her aside to whisper to her.
"She is my wife," said he to Mr. Dryce. "I am the person to whom you wrote, and I have brought the remittance with me from Australia."
They all went upstairs together, except the policeman, whose question was answered by a recital of the events of the night, and the present of a sovereign.
"Bring down the boy, and let me look at his dear little face," said old Dryce, when they were sitting round the fire.
The child was brought down tenderly, and still asleep.
"God bless him!" said the bearded stranger. "He's not like either of us, Aggy."
"Like either of you?" said Mr. Dryce, surprised. "How should he be like your husband, Mrs. Harris?"