“So I believed, but he tells me that Ridley was the only one who came in, and that he spent not more than fifteen minutes here, dusting around a little. Ridley says that he tried to open the desk in order to clean it out, but found it locked.”
“Then it was locked this morning?”
“If they say what is true. I don’t know whether to believe them or not, appearances are so bad.”
“I can hardly believe that either Ridley or old Jarvis would steal in that way,” I said.
“I hate to think so, but what other solution is there? They certainly did not act or speak as if they had done it. Both of them were badly worried over it, but they seemed to be innocent. I told them that the thief could be traced by the bank book.”
“That is no severe loss,” I said, “for you can advise the bank about the matter without delay, and they will watch out for the fellow that took it.”
“No, that does not make me uneasy,” answered Ray. “It is the doubt about the thief that troubles me. I wonder whether he disturbed anything else.”
Ray took out a match and entered the adjoining room. Scarcely a second had passed after he disappeared from view, when there came a sharp, quick cry, then a succession of harsh exclamations, the rapid shuffling of feet, and the sounds of a fierce struggle. It lasted but a moment, and before I had time to realize the situation, and hurry to Ray’s assistance, before I had half reached the door, Ray emerged from the darkness of the other room, panting heavily, and dragging by the neck a crouching, struggling fellow who was fighting hard to shake himself loose.
We seized him roughly, and together threw him upon the sofa, Ray putting one hand upon his breast.