"
Had I slapped the merchant in the face he would not have been more
surprised. He sprang to his feet and glared at me.
"You-- you-- Who says he made such an admission?"
"I say so."
"Ah! I see, you were spying on us. You rascal!"
"It strikes me that you are the rascal," I returned. "You try
deliberately to shield a thief."
"What!"
"Yes, it's true."
"Can you prove it?"
Mr. Woodward asked the question sneeringly, but there was much of
curiosity in his tones.
"Perhaps I can."
The merchant pulled his mustache nervously.
"Strong, you are greatly mistaken. But don't let us quarrel any more."
"I don't want to quarrel."
"I feel badly over the whole affair, and Mr. Stumpy is fairly sick. I
suppose you think you are right, but you are mistaken. Now I have a
proposition to make to you." Mr. Woodward leaned forward in his chair.
"Suppose you admit that you are mistaken-- that Mr. Stumpy is not the
man? Do this, and I will not prosecute you for having taken my
papers."
I was surprised and indignant; surprised that Mr. Woodward should
still insist upon my having taken his papers, and indignant because of
his outrageous offer.
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