"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."
"You were seen to enter the office of this factory with Mr. Gibbon, and after ten minutes came out with the tin box under your arm."
"Who saw me?" demanded Stark, uneasily.
Carl Crawford came forward and answered this question.
"I did!" he said.
"A likely story! You were in bed and asleep."
"You are mistaken. I was on watch behind the stone wall just opposite. If you want proof, I can repeat some of the conversation that passed between you and Mr. Gibbon."
Without waiting for the request, Carl rehearsed some of the talk already recorded in a previous chapter.
Phil Stark began to see that things were getting serious for him, but he was game to the last.
"I deny it," he said, in a loud voice.
"Do you also deny it, Mr. Gibbon?" asked Mr. Jennings.
"No, sir; I admit it," replied Gibbon, with a triumphant glance at his foiled confederate.
"This is a conspiracy against an innocent man," said Stark, scowling. "You want to screen your bookkeeper, if possible. No one has ever before charged me with crime."
"Then how does it happen, Mr. Stark, that you were confined at the Joliet penitentiary for a term of years?"
"Did he tell you this?" snarled Stark, pointing to Gibbon.
"No."
"Who then?"
"A customer of mine from Chicago. He saw you at the hotel, and informed Carl last evening of your character. Carl, of course, brought the news to me. It was in consequence of this information that I myself removed the bonds from the box, early in the evening, and substituted strips of paper. Your enterprise, therefore, would have availed you little even if you had succeeded in getting off scot-free."
"I see the game is up," said Stark, throwing off the mask. "It's true that I have been in the Joliet penitentiary. It was there that I became acquainted with your bookkeeper," he added, maliciously. "Let him deny it if he dare."
"I shall not deny it. It is true," said Gibbon.
"But I had resolved to live an honest life in future, and would have done so if this man had not pressed me into crime by his threats."
"I believe you, Mr. Gibbon," said the manufacturer, gently, "and I will see that this is counted in your favor. And now, gentlemen, I think there is no occasion for further delay."
The two men were carried to the lockup and in due time were tried. Stark was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, Gibbon to five. At the end of two years, at the intercession of Mr. Jennings, he was pardoned, and furnished with money enough to go to Australia, where, his past character unknown, he was able to make an honest living, and gain a creditable position.
