The unhappy bookkeeper saw the coils closing around him.

“I hope you will see your way to release me,” said Stark, addressing himself to Mr. Jennings.  “I have just received information that my poor mother is lying dangerously sick in Cleveland, and I am anxious to start for her bedside to-day.”

“Why did you come round here this morning?” asked Mr. Jennings.

“To ask Mr. Gibbon to repay me ten dollars which he borrowed of me the other day,” returned Stark, glibly.

“You—­liar!” exclaimed Gibbon, angrily.

“I am prepared for this man’s abuse,” said Stark.  “I don’t mind admitting now that a few days since he invited me to join him in the robbery of the safe.  I threatened to inform you of his plan, and he promised to give it up.  I supposed he had done so, but it is clear to me now that he carried out his infamous scheme.”

Mr. Jennings looked amused.  He admired Stark’s brazen effrontery.

“What have you to say to this charge, Mr. Gibbon?” he asked.

“Only this, sir, that I was concerned in the burglary.”

“He admits it!” said Stark, triumphantly.

“But this man forced me to it.  He threatened to write you some particulars of my past history which would probably have lost me my position if I did not agree to join him in the conspiracy.  I was weak, and yielded.  Now he is ready to betray me to save himself.”

“Mr. Jennings,” said Stark, coldly, “you will know what importance to attach to the story of a self-confessed burglar.  Gibbon, I hope you will see the error of your ways, and restore to your worthy employer the box of valuable property which you stole from his safe.”

“This is insufferable!” cried the bookkeeper “You are a double-dyed traitor, Phil Stark.  You were not only my accomplice, but you instigated the crime.”

“You will find it hard to prove this,” sneered Stark.  “Mr. Jennings, I demand my liberty.  If you have any humanity you will not keep me from the bedside of my dying mother.”  “I admire your audacity, Mr. Stark,” observed the manufacturer, quietly.  “Don’t suppose for a moment that I give the least credit to your statements.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Gibbon.  “I’m ready to accept the consequences of my act, but I don’t want that scoundrel and traitor to go free.”

“You can’t prove anything against me,” said Stark, doggedly, “unless you accept the word of a self-confessed burglar, who is angry with me because I would not join him.”

“All these protestations it would be better for you to keep till your trial begins, Mr. Stark,” said the manufacturer.  “However, I think it only fair to tell you that I am better informed about you and your conspiracy than you imagine.  Will you tell me where you were at eleven o’clock last evening?”

“I was in my room at the hotel—­no, I was taking a walk.  I had received news of my mother’s illness, and I was so much disturbed and grieved that I could not remain indoors.”