“No, sir,” I replied promptly.

“Remember that you saw him only by lantern light, and then but for a few minutes.”

“I saw him by daylight as well.”

“When?”

“In the morning.  He came as a beggar.”

“A beggar?  Impossible!” The merchant held, up his hands in assumed amazement.  “Why, Strong, the idea of Mr. Stumpy begging is ridiculous.”

“Just the same it is true, Mr. Woodward.  And what is more, he is the thief, and you know it.”

“That’s a strong assertion to make, sir, a very strong assertion.”

“Nevertheless, I believe I can prove my words.”

Mr. Woodward turned slightly pale.

“You can prove no such thing,” he cried.

“Yes, I can.  Didn’t Stumpy admit he had taken the money?”

“Never, sir.”

“He did.”

“When?”

“This afternoon while you were at Decker’s place.”

Had I slapped the merchant in the face he would not have been more surprised.  He sprang to his feet and glared at me.

“You—­ you—­ Who says he made such an admission?”

“I say so.”

“Ah!  I see, you were spying on us.  You rascal!”

“It strikes me that you are the rascal,” I returned.  “You try deliberately to shield a thief.”

“What!”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“Can you prove it?”

Mr. Woodward asked the question sneeringly, but there was much of curiosity in his tones.

“Perhaps I can.”

The merchant pulled his mustache nervously.

“Strong, you are greatly mistaken.  But don’t let us quarrel any more.”

“I don’t want to quarrel.”

“I feel badly over the whole affair, and Mr. Stumpy is fairly sick.  I suppose you think you are right, but you are mistaken.  Now I have a proposition to make to you.”  Mr. Woodward leaned forward in his chair.  “Suppose you admit that you are mistaken—­ that Mr. Stumpy is not the man?  Do this, and I will not prosecute you for having taken my papers.”

I was surprised and indignant; surprised that Mr. Woodward should still insist upon my having taken his papers, and indignant because of his outrageous offer.

“Mr. Woodward,” I began firmly, “you can prosecute me or not; Stumpy is the guilty man, and I shall always stick to it.”

“Then you will go to jail, too.”

“For the last time let me say I have not seen your papers.”

“It is false.  You took them from this room last night.  At the very time you pretend you were after the robber at Mrs. Canby’s house you were here ransacking my desk.”

“Mr. Woodward—­”

“There is no use in denying it.  I have abundant proofs.  The girl who cleaned up here this morning found a handkerchief with your name on it lying on the floor.  If you weren’t here, how did that come here?”

“My handkerchief?”

“Yes, sir, your handkerchief; and Mary O’Brien can identify it and tell where she found it.”