“Did you see Joe’s face?”
“No. But I know it was him.”
“It wasn’t,” said Joe. “I never stole in my life. Listen, Deacon Blackford. You were robbed—of that there’s no doubt—but it was by some one else. When you stopped me just now, I was on the trail of some men who undoubtedly know something about the crime.”
Rapidly, earnestly, Joe told about the two men—the men who had joked about the deacon’s loss, the men he had tried to follow from the theatre.
“Their names were Burke and Jake,” he said. “Do you know who they were?” and he turned to his foster-father.
“Burke and Jake! Burke Denton and Jake Harrison!” murmured the deacon. “I—I never thought of them! The papers—the investment papers—they were taken with the money—why—why——”
He seemed lost in thought for a moment.
“Look here!” he finally said. “I’m not saying you didn’t rob me, Joe, but I’m a Christian, and I don’t want to accuse anybody unjustly. It is true that the men you speak of might have done it. Where can they be found?”
“I don’t know—now,” answered Joe.
Joe pleaded his case earnestly. He went over every detail of his escape from the deacon’s house that night, and described every movement so minutely that an unprejudiced listener could not help believing him.