Sheridan chuckled. “I reasoned that, as long as he believed himself unsuspected, Smith would carry the key in his pocket. He might want to put the papers back in the desk or to make another raid. So I had to figure out a way to get that key. One day I was in the court, where trucks drive in, washing things down with a hose. Smith happened to skip out through the court on an errand. I saw him coming and made sure that he got a thorough drenching, particularly from the waist down. Of course I was awfully sorry for the accident and did all I could to make amends. I got some dry clothes quick and helped the lad skin out of his wet ones. You bet I went through his pockets fast. I had that key before the wet trousers were fairly off of him. That was all I needed. It fitted the wax impression exactly. But I let him go for a day or two. I watched him like a hawk. Twice I saw him examining the places where I wet him and where he took off his wet clothes. I knew he was hunting for his key. Finally he came to me and asked me if, in cleaning up, I had found a key. He said he had dropped his latch-key, and he described it.” Sheridan paused and looked at Smith, who sat with his head down, looking at the floor. “I said, ‘Yes. I found the key. Is this it?’ And I showed him that skeleton key. He said it was. I asked him if he was sure. “‘I certainly am,’ he replied. “‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly what I want to know, because that key fits Mr. King’s desk and was used to open his desk the day his papers were stolen.’ You should have seen him when I told him that, Mr. King. He wilted like a lily in a hot room. Then he began to bluster, and try to bluff it out; but I told him it was no use to lie about it and that we had him dead to rights. So in the end he confessed everything. He still has the papers, and I told him that if he would return the papers we would try to get him off as easy as possible.” Mr. King wheeled in his chair and faced his former office boy. “So that’s the kind of boy you are, eh?” he said. “It’s too bad Mr. Sheridan made such a promise to you. You are more than a thief. I fully believe that you would have allowed my new office boy to go to prison when you were the guilty one yourself. I suppose I am bound by Mr. Sheridan’s promise. But let me tell you that if you do not come across with those papers at once, and if you do not do everything in your power to make amends to Willie, I won’t consider that I am bound by it. I’ll do my best to see that you get the maximum instead of the minimum punishment.” Then Mr. King turned to Sheridan. “Take him out of here as quick as you can get him out,” he said. “I’m getting madder every minute.” Sheridan hustled his sullen prisoner out of the office. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than the buzzer rang violently. Willie fairly flew to his Chief’s desk. For a moment Mr. King was silent. Then he held out his hand.