ber of years past—didn't you have any money of your own?"
"Yes," said Varge. "But once I'd made up my mind to go, I wanted all I could get to make a new start on."
"How much of your own money did you have?"
"About six hundred dollars."
"Where?"—sharply.
"In the bank," Varge answered quietly.
"Hum!" commented the district attorney drily. "And it's there now, isn't it?"
A wan smile, tolerant, tinged Varge's lips—but while his eyes held Lee's steadily and his wits were pitted warily against the other, his ears were strained to catch the first sound of an approaching footfall.
"I didn't expect that what did happen would happen," he countered instantly. "I didn't expect to be caught taking the cash-box. I didn't expect that suspicion would be directed against me when it was found to have been taken. I didn't intend to leave here for perhaps weeks yet, not until it had all blown over. That's why I hadn't drawn the money out of the bank."
"Well," said Lee, frowning, "the cash-box, I understand, was always kept in the same place, always there—how did you come to hit on last night for the robbery?"
"Because," Varge answered, "I knew there was more in the cash-box than usual. I saw Doctor Merton open it yesterday afternoon."
Lee turned to the sheriff.
"How much was in it when you opened it, Marston, after Varge gave it to you?"
