“What have you to say to this charge, Mr. Gibbon?” he asked. “Only this, sir, that I was concerned in the burglary.” “He admits it!” said Stark, triumphantly. “But this man forced me to it. He threatened to write you some particulars of my past history which would probably have lost me my position if I did not agree to join him in the conspiracy. I was weak, and yielded. Now he is ready to betray me to save himself.” “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.”