Al dashed across to the window, to block any possibility of Griff trying to drop the ten or fifteen feet to the ground. Bob snatched up the money. Curt blocked the door.
After his first look of stunned horror, Griff sank into the swivel chair and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with a sudden revulsion of feeling that unmanned him, made him sob like a creature in pain.
For a moment no one moved. The comrades were rather dismayed and nonplussed by Griff’s pathetic attitude.
They had caught him, yes! Red-handed, as Al had said, they had caught him, in the act of something very dreadful.
Nevertheless, his surprising way of giving in, sitting there in a bent posture, with his body racked by his sobs, made him a rather pitiful figure.
“Stop that!” Bob said, finally, and rather gruffly. “You’ve done wrong. You’ve been caught. Take it like a man!”
“Yes,” Griff replied in a shaking voice. “Yes—I’m caught. I know I’m a baby—but—but——”
He fought back his weakness and gulped.
“But—what?” demanded Curt. “I suppose you’ll say you were forced to do this by somebody else. They always do, in books!”
“No,” Griff answered. “No. I—it’s all my doing. But——”