"I don't think so."
He made a gesture of helplessness.
"I couldn't get back to my rooms," he said in a whisper. "If
they've searched them," he paused, "as they're sure to--they'll
find your letters to me." He paused again. "Your aunt doesn't
suspect anything?"
"No, I told her I'd engaged a gardener--and that's all there
was about it."
He came nearer to her. "Dale!" he murmured in a tense voice. "You
know I didn't take that money!" he said with boyish simplicity.
All the loyalty of first-love was in her answer.
"Of course! I believe in you absolutely!" she said. He caught her
in his arms and kissed her--gratefully, passionately. Then the
galling memory of the predicament in which he stood, the hunt
already on his trail, came back to him. He released her gently,
still holding one of her hands.
"But--the police here!" he stammered, turning away. "What does
that mean?"
Dale swiftly informed him of the situation.
"Aunt Cornelia says people have been trying to break into this
house for days--at night."
Brooks ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of bewilderment.
Then he seemed to catch at a hope.
"What sort of people?" he queried sharply.
Dale was puzzled. "She doesn't know."
The excitement in her lover's manner came to a head. "That proves
exactly what I've contended right along," he said, thudding one
fist softly in the palm of the other. "Through some underneath
channel old Fleming has been selling those securities for months,
turning them into cash.
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