"Yes."

 

"I didn't think it would be found out so soon," said Harold, trying to recover his equanimity. "Of course it was taken by Luke Walton."

 

"You are quite mistaken," said Felicie. "Luke Walton did not take it."

 

Harold's heart gave another thump. He scented danger, but remained silent.

 

"You don't ask me who took the money?" said Felicie, after a pause.

 

"Because I don't believe you know," returned Harold, "You've probably got some suspicion?"

 

"I have more than that. The person who took the money was seen at his work."

 

Harold turned pale.

 

"There is no use in mincing matters," continued Felicie. "You took the money."

 

"What do you mean by such impertinence?" gasped Harold.

 

"It is no impertinence. If you doubt my knowledge, I'll tell you the particulars. You opened the drawer with one of a bunch of keys which you took from your pocket, took out a morocco pocketbook, opened it and counted the roll of bills which it contained, then put the pocketbook into your pocket, locked the drawer and left the room."

 

"That's a fine story," said Harold, forcing himself to speak. "I dare say all this happened, only you were the one who opened the drawer."

 

"I saw it all through a crack in the half-open door," continued Felicie, not taking the trouble to answer his accusation. "If you want further proof, suppose you feel in your pocket. I presume the pocketbook is there at this moment."

 

Instinctively Harold put his hand into his pocket, then suddenly withdrew it, as if his fingers were burned, for the pocketbook was there as Felicie had said.

 

"There is one thing more," said Felicie, as she drew from her pocket a bunch of keys. "I found this bunch of keys in your room this morning."

 

"They are not mine," answered Harold, hastily.

 

"I don't know anything about that. They are the ones you had in your hand when you opened the drawer. I think this is the key you used."

 

"The keys belong to you!" asserted Harold, desperately.

 

"Thank you for giving them to me, but I shall have no use for them," said Felicie, coolly. "And now, Master Harold, do you want to know why I have told you this little story?"

 

"Yes," answered Harold, feebly.

 

"Because I think it will be for our mutual advantage to come to an understanding. I don't want to inform your aunt of what I have seen unless you compel me to do so."

 

"How should I compel you to do so?" stammered Harold, uneasily.

 

"Step into the parlor, where we can talk comfortably. Your aunt is upstairs, and your mother is out, so that no one will hear us."

 

Harold felt that he was in the power of the cunning Felicie, and he followed her unresistingly.

 

"Sit down on the sofa, and we will talk at our ease. I will keep silent about this matter, and no one else knows a word about it, if----"

 

"Well?"

 

"If you will give me half the money."

 

"But," said Harold, who now gave up the pretense of denial, "I have spent part of it."

 

"You have more than half of it left?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Give me thirty dollars and I will be content. I saw you count it. There were sixty-five dollars."

 

"I don't see what claim you have to it," said Harold, angrily.

 

"I have as much as you," answered Felicie, coolly. "Still, if you prefer to go to your aunt, own up that you took it, and take the consequences, I will agree not to interfere. But if I am to keep the secret, I want to be paid for it."

 

Harold ............