Meanwhile Joe and Jim were quarrelling, and Joe proceeded to settle the dispute in a fashion of his own. On the second morning after the robbery, the shop boy in sweeping out the place found a big clasp knife, which he had not noticed before, in a dark corner behind the counter. The knife was shown to his master, and finally brought up to the office to me. The moment it was placed in my hands I exclaimed—“What! did you find that in the shop? How did I miss it when I was there? It’s Jim Hutson’s knife. I’ll soon have the thieves now, and possibly the plunder too.” Down I went to Jim’s home in College Wynd. He was not in. “He’s got wark,” his mother explained. “So I think,” was my dry rejoinder. I looked over the house, and finally under the bed found a parcel tied up in brown paper. “He brocht it in last nicht,” his mother simply remarked. “He’s keeping it to obleege a freend.” I opened the parcel, and found it contained part of the stolen goods. I was explaining this to the mother when Jim appeared in working garb for his breakfast. He changed colour at once, and sat down, or rather dropped down, into a seat by the fire. “It’s all up, Jim,” I said with some pity. “I told you I’d have you soon.” He stared at me, not in resentment, but with a strange, thoughtful look in his eyes. “Have I been sold?” he at last inquired, rather quietly. “Did he—I mean—did anyone betray me?” “No,” I promptly answered, believing what I said. “Have you your knife about you?” He dived his hand into his pocket, and then appeared to reflect. “You needn’t look there for it,” I remarked. “I’ll find it for you when we get up to the office.” “I had it yesterday—I’m sure I had it yesterday,” he said, after a horrible pause. “I don’t think so,” I gently observed in correction. “You dropped it the night before.” “What! do you mean to say you found it _there_?” he cried, his whole face becoming white with fury. “It was found,” I oracularly returned; and then, taking my advice, he relapsed into silence, and quietly accompanied me. Of course the mother had to go too, but she was speedily released, as it was quite evident, from her artless admission to me, that she knew nothing of the robbery, and her character was above suspicion. Jim did not deny his knife. He only said occasionally under his breath—“He has done it! Wait; I’ll give it him back!” His suspicion, which was probably sound, was that Joe had picked his pocket of the knife, and then made some errand into the shop, and so managed to drop the tell-tale article where it was likely to be found.