Well, we call for them now! Where are they, Shaffer? You haven't spent or lost them?"
The clerk stood with eyes fixed on Trant, as if fascinated, and could make no reply. Twice, and then again as Trant waited, he wet his lips and opened them.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he faltered at last.
"Yes you do, Shaffer," Trant rejoined quickly. "For I'm talking of those twenty five-hundred-dollar bills which you 'found' in Gordon's waste-basket on September 29th—sixty days ago, Shaffer! And, through me, Mr. Howell is giving you a chance to return the money and have the bank present at your trial the extenuating circumstances," he glanced at Howell, who nodded, "or to refuse and have the bank prosecute you, to the extent of its ability, as a thief!"
"I am not a thief!" the clerk cried, bitterly. "I found the money! If you saw me take it, if you have known all these sixty days that I had it," he swung in his desperation toward the banker, "you are worse than I am! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn't you ask me for it?"
"We are asking you for it now, Shaffer," said Trant, catching the clerk by the arm, "if you still have it."
The clerk looked at his employer, standing speechless before him, and his head sank suddenly.
"Of course I have it," he said, sullenly. "You know I have it!"
Howell stepped to the door and called in the bank's special police officer.
