“My God! it is; that's what haunted me night and day. I felt as though I had murdered a man who had been my friend. I knew he thought young Porter had taken it and was shielding him. The memory of the misery in Mortimer's face at being counted a thief would have stuck to me if I had lived a hundred years.”
Cass had interrupted Crane. When he ceased again out of exhaustion, Crane proceeded, “Mortimer must be paid back the money.”
“I'll save and work my fingers off till I do it.”
“You can't. Those dependent upon you would starve. I'll attend to that myself.”
“And you will let me go without—”
“No, you can't go.”
“My God! I'm to be prosecuted?”
“No, you can stay in the bank. I don't think you'll ever listen to the voices again; it's bad business.”
Cass sat and stared at the strange man who said these things out of silly expressionless eyes that were blurred full of tears.
“Yes, you can go right on as you have been. It will be understood that the money was found, had been mislaid; I'll think that out. It's nobody's business just now; I run the bank and you take orders from me. Go back to your desk and stay there. I've got to tell Mortimer and Miss Porter that you made this mistake, and Lane, too, I suppose, but nobody else will ever know of it. I was going to make you sign a confession, but it's not needed. You may go now.”