Owen came down the spiral staircase, looking curiously about him.
"I got your note, Mr. Farnum," began the ex-foreman. "What's the matter? Find you need me here, after all?"
"Not for long," replied Mr. Farnum, coldly. "Owen, before you gave your keys in to Mr. Partridge you must have taken an impression of one of them and must have fitted a key to the pattern. Why were you here last night?"
"Me? I wasn't here last night—nor any other night," Josh Owen made haste to answer, though a look of guilty alarm crept into his face. All of the workmen had ceased their toil, and stood looking on at this unusual scene.
"You say you weren't here last night?" demanded Mr. Farnum, sternly.
"And you didn't use any false key to get into this shed?"
"Of course I didn't," retorted the ex-foreman, defiantly. "You wrote a note to me that, if I'd come around here this morning, I'd hear of a job. I didn't come here to be insulted."
"The job I mentioned in my note," rejoined Mr. Farnum, with a meaning smile, "is over at the penitentiary. Owen, you did come here last night. You scaled the fence at the west side, crossed the yard, opened the door of this building with this key—"
Here the yard's owner held out the false key, that all might see it.
"—and," finished Mr. Farnum, "you came in here and went to work to damage a sea-valve forward on this craft. The valve shows, this morning, very plain traces of having been tampered with."
Josh Owen was summoning all his courage, all his craft. Instead of looking frightened, he glared boldly at his accuser.