"He told me that Mr. Carpenter was at first determined to turn you over to the police, but that he had begged him to give you a chance. He—he says that Mr. Carpenter has had a private detective watching you for a fortnight, and—and—oh, I cannot say it!"
"Go on," said Trotter harshly; "say it!"
"Well, of course, I know and you understand it is simply part of his outrageous plan, but he says your late employer has positive proof that you took—that you took some marked bank notes out of his overcoat pocket a few days ago. He had been missing money and had provided himself with marked—"
Trotter leaped to his feet with a cry of rage.
"Sit down!" commanded Mr. Bramble. "Sit down! Where are you going?"
"Great God! Do you suppose I can sit still and let him get away with anything like that?" roared Trotter. "I'm going to jam those words down Carpenter's craven throat. I'm—"
"You forget he is in Atlantic City," said de Bosky, as if suddenly coming out of a dream.
"Oh, Lord!" groaned Trotter, very white in the face.
There were tears in Miss Emsdale's eyes. "They—he means to drive you out of town," she murmured brokenly.
"Fine chance of that!" cried Trotter violently.
"Let us be calm," said M. Mirabeau, gently taking the young man's arm and leading him back to the box on which he had been sitting. "You must not play into their hands, and that is what you would be doing if you went to him in a rage. As long as you remain
