The third day was rainy, and Gilbert wore a thin overcoat, which, on arriving at the office, he took off and hung up. At ten o’clock the rain ceased, and he did not feel the need of wearing it when sent out on errands.
About eleven o’clock John sauntered into the office.
“You may go round to the post-office, Gilbert,” said the book-keeper.
“Very well, sir.”
Gilbert put on his coat and went out.
“Isn’t it about time, cousin Simon?” asked John, significantly.
“Yes,” said Moore.
“How shall we manage?”
164The book-keeper took from his pocket a ten-dollar bill, and handed it to John.
“That is Gilbert’s coat,” he said. “Put this bill into one of the pockets.”
John obeyed.
“I guess that will fix him,” he said, in a tone of satisfaction.
“I’ll manage the rest,” said the book-keeper. “Stay round here till Gilbert gets back, and we’ll bring matters to a crisis.”
Just as John was placing the bill in Gilbert’s coat-pocket, the little boot-black mentioned at the close of the last chapter thrust his head into the doorway.
“Shine yer boots?” he asked.
“Clear out, you vagabond!” said the book-keeper, irritably.
Tom, for that was his name, looked inquisitively about him and retired. He saw that there was no chance for business. He recognized John as the one who had kicked him the day before.
“I wonder what he was putting into the coat,” he 165thought; but dismissed the thought as not concerning him till afterwards.
“Did he notice what I was doing?” thought John, with momentary uneasiness. “But, of course, he wouldn’t understand,” he felt, with quick relief.
A few minutes elapsed, and Gilbert returned, bringing home the mail.
“All right!” said Moore, “wait a minute, and I shall want to send you out again.”
“Oh, by the way, Gilbert,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “have you seen anything of a ten-dollar bill?—I laid one on the desk an hour ago, and now it has disappeared.”
“I haven’t seen it, sir.”
“Won’t you look on the floor? It may have dropped.”
Gilbert searched, but of course unsuccessfully.
“That is strange,” said the book-keeper. “I remember distinctly placing the bill on the desk; have you seen it, John?”
“No, cousin Simon.”
“It is very mysterious,” mused the book-keeper.
166“I hope you don’t suspect me of taking it, cousin Simon,” said John, who had been instructed what to say.
“Of course not.”
John began to turn his pockets inside out.
“I want you to search me,” he said; “if you don’t, you may think I took it, after all.”
“I never thought of such a thing, John,” said Simon Moore.
“I am sure Gilbert and I would prefer to be searched,” persisted John, looking towards Gilbert as he spoke.
Gilbert colored, for it was not agreeable to him to fall under suspicion, but he answered quietly, “I am quite ready to be searched.”
“I don’t think it at all necessary,” said Simon Moore; “but if you boys insist upon it, I will do it. It is certainly strange that the bill should have disappeared, and left no trace behind. Gilbert, will you search John, and then he shall search you.”
“If you desire it, Mr. Moore,” said Gilbert; “but 167I don’t believe John took the bill, and I am sure I didn’t.”
Gilbert proceeded to search John, the latter assisting him. A jack-knife, a couple of keys, a handkerchief, and twenty-five cents in money were all that he found.
“I’m not very rich,” said John, smiling. “I don’t mind saying that the ten dollars would be very acceptable, but I haven’t got it; are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” said Gilbert, “you haven’t got it, and I didn’t think you had; you may search me now.”
John conducted the search carelessly, for he knew, beforehand, what the result would be.
“I don’t find it,” he said. “Where can the bill be? Are you sure you didn’t put it back into your own pocket, cousin Simon?”
“Quite sure. By the way, Gilbert, didn’t you wear an overcoat?”
“Yes, sir; there it is, hanging up.”
“John, you had better examine that also, that the search may be thorough.”
168“Certainly,” said Gilbert, little dreaming of what was in store for him.
John plunged his hand into one pocket and found nothing; then into the other, and drew out the ten-dollar bill.
“What’s this?” he asked, pretending to be surprised.
“Let me see it,” said Gilbert, overcome with surprise.
“Let me see it,” said Simon Moore, sharply.
“It’s a ten-dollar bill,” said John, looking at it more closely.
“It’s the note I missed,” said the book-keeper, taking it into his hands. “What have you to say to this, Greyson?” he demanded, sternly.
“I have this to say,” said Gilbert, a little pale, as was natural, “that I don’t know anything about that bill, or how it came in my coat-pocket.”
“I suppose not,” sneered the book-keeper.
“I am willing to swear to it,” said Gilbert, recovering his firmness.
169“A boy that steals money cannot expect to be believed, even upon oath,” said the book-keeper.
“Do you believe I took that money, John?” asked Gilbert.
“You mustn’t ask me,” said John. “I didn’t think you’d do such a thing, Gilbert, but it looks mighty suspicious.”
“I never stole a penny in my life,” said Gilbert, hotly.
“Do you claim this money as yours?” asked the book-keeper.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then how came it in your pocket? It couldn’t have got there without hands.”
A light dawned upon Gilbert’s mind; a suspicion of the truth flashed upon him.
“It is true,” he said, significantly. “Somebody must have put it into my pocket.”
“And that somebody was yourself,” said Moore, sharply.
“Of course it was,” chimed in John.
170Gilbert looked slowly from one to the other. There was something in their faces that revealed all to him.
“I think I understand,” he said. “You two have formed a conspiracy to ruin me. I see it now.”
“If you speak in that way again,” said Moore, in a rage, “I will kick you out of the office.”
“I should like to have you refer the matter to Mr. Sands,” said Gilbert, betraying no alarm. “He will do me justice.”
“I ought to refer the matter to the nearest policeman,” said the book-keeper, in a menacing tone.
“Do so, if you like,” said Gilbert, though he shrank with natural reluctance from being arrested, innocent as he knew himself to be. “I am not without powerful friends, as you will find.”
“Don’t have him arrested, cousin Simon,” said John, with apparent compassion. “He has given up the money. Discharge him, and let him go.”
This was what Simon Moore had already determined to do. He knew very well that in any legal investigation John and he would incur suspicion, and 171for prudential reasons he preferred not to court any such publicity.
“I ought to arrest you,” he said, turning to Gilbert; “but I will have pity on your youth, hoping that this will be your last offence. I shall, of course, discharge you, since I should not be justified in retaining you under the circumstances. I will report to Mr. Sands why I was compelled to dispense with your services. I will pay you your wages up to to-day, and you need not come here again.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that, Mr. Moore,” said Gilbert, with dignity. “I shall report to Mr. Sands when he returns, and abide by his judgment.”
“You had better not,” said Moore. “I advise you for your own good. Mr. Sands will still have it in his power to arrest you; your best course will be to leave the city, and go to some place where you are not known.”
“I shall remain in the city, and can be found, if wanted,” said Gilbert, boldly. “The day will come, Mr. Moore, when my innocence will be known by all.”
Moore shrugged his shoulders.
172“I have heard such things before,” he said. “You can go. John, I will employ you, temporarily, in Gilbert’s place.”
“I understand your object now, Mr. Moore,” said Gilbert, looking significantly at John.
“Begone, or I will yet have you arrested,” said the book-keeper, angrily.
Gilbert put on his coat and hat, and walked out of the office.