Then, without looking at him, father gave an account of his afternoon's drive, just as if he was talking to himself.
He said that Pacer never to his knowledge had been on that road before, and yet he seemed perfectly familiar with it, and that he stopped and turned already to leave again quickly, instead of going up to the door, and how he looked over his shoulder and started on a run down the lane, the minute father's foot was in the cutter again.

In the course of his remarks, father mentioned the fact that on Monday, the evening that the robbery was committed, Jacobs had borrowed Pacer to go to the Junction, but had come in with the horse steaming, and looking as if he had been driven a much longer distance than that.

Father said that when he got done, Jacobs had sunk down all in a heap on the stable floor, with his hands over his face.

Father left him to have it out with himself, and went to the house.
"The next morning, Jacobs looked just the same as usual, and went about with the other men doing his work, but saying nothing about going West.
Late in the afternoon, a farmer going by hailed father, and asked if he'd heard the news.
"Old Miser Jerrold's box had been left on his doorstep some time through the night, and he'd found it in the morning.

The money was all there, but the old fellow was so cute that he wouldn't tell any one how much it was.