“I will examine you first,” said the detective; and Frithiof, seeing that there was no help for it, submitted with haughty composure to the indignity. For an instant even Mr. Horner was shaken in his opinion, there was such an evident consciousness of innocence in the Norwegian’s whole manner and bearing now that the ordeal had actually come. In solemn silence two pockets were turned inside out. The right-hand waistcoat pocket was apparently empty, but the careful detective turned that inside out too. Suddenly Mr. Boniface started forward with an ejaculation of astonishment. “I told you so,” cried Mr. Horner vehemently. And Frithiof, roused to take notice, which before he had not condescended to do, looked down and saw a sight that made his heart stand still. Carefully pinned to the inside of the pocket was a clean, fresh, five-pound note. He did not speak a word, but just stared at the thing in blank amazement. There was a painful silence. Surely it could be nothing but a bad dream! He looked at the unconcerned detective, and at Mr. Horner’s excited face, and at Mr. Boniface’s expression of grief and perplexity. It was no dream; it was a most horrible reality—a reality which he was utterly incapable of explaining. With an instinct that there was yet one man present who trusted him, in spite of appearances, he made a step or two toward Mr. Boniface. “Sir,” he said, in great agitation, “I swear to you that I knew nothing of this. It has astounded me as much as it has surprised you. How it came there I can’t say, but certainly I didn’t put it there.” Mr. Boniface was silent, and glancing back Frithiof saw on the thin lips of the detective a very expressive smile. The sight almost maddened him. In the shock of the discovery he had turned very pale, now the violence of his wrath made him flush to the roots of his hair. “If you didn’t put it there, who did?” said Mr. Horner indignantly. “Don’t add to your sin, young man, by falsehood.” “I have never spoken a falsehood in my life; it is you who lie when you say that I put the note there,” said Frithiof hotly. “My poor fellow,” said Mr. Boniface, “I am heartily sorry for you, but you must own that appearances are against you.” “What! you too, sir!” cried Frithiof, his indignation giving place to heartbroken wonder. The tone went to Mr. Boniface’s heart. “I think you did it quite unconsciously,” he said. “I am sure you never could have taken it had you known what you were about. You did it in absence of mind—in a fit of temporary aberration. It is, perhaps, a mere result of your illness last summer, and no one would hold you responsible for it.” A horrible wave of doubt passed over Frithiof. Could this indeed be the explanation? But it was only for a moment. He could not really believe it; he knew that there was no truth in this suggestion of brain disturbance.