AN ASTOUNDING CALAMITY
Mr. Ackerman was as good as his word, for within half an hour he
presented himself at the hotel where he found Mr. Tolman, Mr. Donovan
and Steve awaiting him in their pleasant upstairs room. As he joined
them his eye traveled inquiringly from one to another of the group and
lingered with curiosity on the face of the detective. The next instant
he was holding out his hand to Stephen.
"Well, my boy, I am glad to see you again," said he, a ring of
heartiness in his voice.
"And I am glad to see you, too, Mr. Ackerman," Steve replied, returning
the hand-clasp with fervor. "This is my father, sir; and this"--for a
second he hesitated, then continued, "is our friend, Mr. Donovan."
With cordiality the New Yorker acknowledged the introductions.
"Mr. Donovan," explained Mr. Tolman, scanning Mr. Ackerman's countenance
with a keen, half-quizzical expression, "is from headquarters."
The steamboat magnate started and shot a quick glance at those present.
It was plain he was disconcerted and uncertain as to how to proceed.
Mr. Donovan, however, came to his rescue, stepping tactfully into the
breach:
"I was not needed for anything but to supply your address, sir; but I
was able to do that, so between us all we have contrived to return your
pocketbook to you as good as before it left your possession."
As he spoke Mr. Tolman drew forth the missing bill book and held it
toward its owner.
"That looks pretty good to me!" Mr. Ackerman exclaimed, as he took the
article from Mr. Tolman's outstretched hand and regarded it
reflectively. "I don't know when I have ever done anything so careless
and stupid. You see I had got part way to the bank before I remembered
that I had left my glasses, on which I am absolutely dependent, at home.
Therefore, there being no taxi in sight, I hailed a passing bus and
climbed up beside this youngster. How the bill book happened to slip out
of my pocket I cannot explain. It seemed to me it would be safer to have
the securities upon my person than in a bag that might be snatched from
me; but apparently my logic was at fault. I was, however, so certain of
my wisdom that I never thought to question it until I had reached the
sidewalk and the bus had gone.
"Your boy, Mr. Tolman, confided while we rode along this morning that he
was visiting in New York for a few days; but of course I did not ask his
name or address and so when I wanted his help in tracing the missing
pocketbook I had no way of locating him beyond assuming that he must be
staying at one of the hotels. Therefore when the omnibus company could
furnish no clue, I got into touch with an agency whose business it is to
hunt people up. If the pocketbook had been dropped on the bus I felt
sure your boy, who was almost the only other person on top of the coach,
would know about it; if, on the other hand, it had been dropped in the
street, my problem would be a different one. In either case the sooner I
knew my course of action the better. I hope you will believe, Mr.
Tolman, that when I called in the aid of detectives I had no suspicions
against your son's honesty."
Mr. Tolman waved the final remark aside good-humoredly.
"We have not taken the affair as a personal matter at all," he declared.
"We fully appreciate your difficulty in finding Stephen, for he was also
up against the problem of finding you. New York is a rather large city
anyway, and for two people who do not even know one another's names to
get together is like hunting a needle in a haystack. Our only recourse
to discovering the owner of the pocketbook would be through the
advertising columns of the papers and that is the method we should have
followed had not Donovan appeared and saved us the trouble."
He exchanged a smile with the detective.
"The advertising column was my one hope," Mr. Ackerman replied. "I felt
sure that any honest person who picked up the purse would advertise it.
It was not the honest people I was worrying about. It was the thought
that I had dropped the bill book in the street where any
Tom-Dick-and-Harry could run away with it that concerned me. Moreover,
even if your boy had found it on the bus, he might have turned it in to
an employee of the coach line who was not honest enough to give it in
turn to his superiors. So I wanted to know where I stood; and now that I
do I cannot tell you how grateful I am both to Stephen and to this
officer here for the service they have rendered me." Then, turning
toward Mr. Tolman, he added in an undertone, "I hope neither you nor
your son have suffered any annoyance through this unfortunate incident."
"Not in the least," was the prompt response. "I confess we were a trifle
disconcerted at first; but Mr. Donovan has performed his duty with such
courtesy that we entertain toward him nothing but gratitude."
"I am glad of that," Mr. Ackerman replied, "for I should deeply regret
placing either you or your boy, even for a moment, in an uncomfortable
position, or one where it might appear that I--"
But Mr. Tolman cut him short.
"You took the quickest, most sensible course, Ackerman," said he. "Too
much was at stake for you to risk delay. When a pocketbook filled with
negotiable securities disappears one must of necessity act with speed.
Neither Stephen nor I cherish the least ill-will about the affair; do
we, son?"
"No, indeed."
Then smiling ingenuously up into the face of the New York man, he said:
"Don't you want to look in your pocketbook and see if everything is all
right, sir?"
The steamboat financier laughed.
"You are a prudent young man," declared he. "No, I am quite willing to
risk that the property you have so kindly guarded is intact."
"It ought to be," the boy said. "I haven't even opened the pocketbook."
"A better proof still that everything is safe within it," chuckled Mr.
Ackerman. "No, sonny, I am not worrying. I should not worry even if you
had ransacked the bill book from one end to the other. I'd take a chance
on the honesty of a boy like you."
Mr. Tolman, however, who had been listening, now came forward and broke
into the conversation:
"Stephen's suggestion is a good, businesslike one, Ackerman," he
declared. "As a mere matter of form--not as a slam against our morals--I
am sure that both he and I would prefer that you examined your property
while we are all here together and assure yourself that it is all
right."
"Pooh! Pooh! Nonsense!" objected the financier.
"It is a wise notion, Mr. Ackerman," rejoined Mr. Donovan. "Business is
business. None of us questions the honor of Mr. Tolman or his son. They
know that. Nevertheless I am sure we should all feel better satisfied
if you went through the formality of an investigation."
"Very well, just as you say. But I want it understood that I do it at
their and your request. I am perfectly satisfied to leave things as they
are."
Taking the now familiar red pocketbook from his coat he opened it
unconcernedly; then the three persons watching him saw a look of
consternation banish the smile from his face.
"What's wrong, Ackerman?" inquired the plain-clothes man quickly.
Without a word the other held the bill book toward him. It was empty.
Bonds, securities, money were gone! A gasp of incredulity came from
Stephen.
"I didn't open it--truly I didn't!" exclaimed he, in a terror-stricken
voice.
But Mr. Ackerman did not heed the remark.
"I am afraid this looks pretty black for us, Ackerman," said Mr. Tolman
slowly. "We have nothing to give you but the boy's word."
Mr. Donovan, however, who had been studying the group with a hawklike
scrutiny now sprang to his feet and caught up his hat.
"I don't see how they dared put it over!" he exclaimed excitedly. "But
they almost got away with it. Even I was fooled."
"You don't mean to insinuate," Mr. Tolman burst out, "that you think
we--"
"Good heavens, no!" replied the detective with his hand on the door
knob. "Don't go getting hot under the collar, Mr. Tolman. Nobody is
slamming _you_. I have been pretty stupid about this affair, I'm afraid;
but give me credit for recognizing honest people when I see them. No,
somebody has tricked you--tricked you all. But the game isn't up yet. If
you gentlemen will just wait here--"
The sentence was cut short by the banging of the door. The detective was
gone. His departure was followed by an awkward silence.
Mr. Ackerman's face clouded into a frown of disappointment and anxiety;
Mr. Tolman paced the floor and puffed viciously at a cigar; and Steve,
his heart cold within him, looked from one to the other, chagrin,
mortification and terror in his eyes.
"I didn't open the pocketbook, Mr. Ackerman," he reiterated for the
twentieth time. "I truly didn't."
But the steamboat magnate was too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts
and speculations to notice the high-pitched voice with its intonation of
distress.
At last Mr. Tolman could endure the situation no longer.
"This is a most unfortunate happening, Ackerman," he burst out. "I am
more concerned about it than I can express. My boy and I are utter
strangers to you and we have no way of proving our honesty. All I can
say is that we are as much amazed at the turn affairs have taken as
yourself, and we regret it with quite as much poignancy--perhaps more
since it reflects directly upon us. If there is anything we can do--"
He stopped, awaiting a reply from the other man, but none came.
"Good heavens, Ackerman," he cried. "You don't mean to say you do not
believe my son and me--that you suspect us of double-dealing!"
"I don't know what to believe, Tolman," owned Mr. Ackerman with candor.
"I want very much to credit your story; in my heart, I do credit it. But
head and heart seem to be at variance in this matter. Frankly I am
puzzled to know where the contents of that pocketbook have gone. Were
the things taken out before the bill book fell into your son's hands or
afterward? And if afterward, who took them? Who had the chance? Donovan
seems to think he has a clue, but I confess I have none."
"Hadn't you looked over the bonds and stuff since you took them home?"
"No," Mr. Ackerman admitted. "I got them from the broker yesterday and
as it was too late to put them into the safe-deposit vault, I took them
home with me instead of putting them in our office safe as I should have
done. I thought it would be easier for me to stop at the bank with them
this morning on my way to business. It was foolish planning but I aimed
to save time."
"So the pocketbook was at your house over night?"
Mr. Ackerman nodded.
"Yes," confessed he. "Nevertheless it did not go out of my possession.
I had it in the inner pocket of my coat all the time."
"You are sure no one took the things out while you were asleep last
night?"
"Why--I--I don't see how they could," faltered Mr. Ackerman. "My
servants are honest--at least, they always have been. I have had them
for years. Moreover, none of them knew I had valuable papers about me.
How could they?" was the reply.
Once more silence fell upon the room.
"Come, Tolman," ejaculated the steamboat man presently, "you are a
level-headed person. What is your theory?"
"If I did not know my son and myself as well as I do," Mr. Tolman
answered with deliberation, "my theory would be precisely what I fancy
yours is. I should reason that during the interval between the finding
of the purse and its return the contents had been extracted."
He saw the New Yorker color.
"That, I admit, is my logical theory," Mr. Ackerman owned with a blush,
"but it is not my intuitive one. My brain tells me one thing and my
heart another; and in spite of the fact that the arguments of my brain
seem correct I find myself believing my heart and in consequence
cherishing a groundless faith in you and your boy," concluded he, with a
faint smile.
"That is certainly generous of you, Ackerman!" Mr. Tolman returned, much
moved by the other's confidence. "Stephen and I are in a very
compromising situation with nothing but your belief between us and a
great deal of unpleasantness. We appreciate your attitude of mind more
than we can express. The only other explanation I can offer, and in the
face of the difficulties it would involve it hardly seems a possible
one, is that while the coat was hanging in the lobby--"
There was a sound outside and a sharp knock at the door, and an instant
later Mr. Donovan entered, his face wreathed in smiles. Following him
was the woman who had checked the coats, a much frightened bell boy, and
a blue-uniformed policeman.
The woman was sobbing.
"Indeed, sir," she wailed, approaching Steve, "I never meant to keep the
pocketbook and make trouble for you. I have a boy of my own at home, a
lad about your age. What is to become of him now? Oh, dear; oh, dear!"
She burst into passionate weeping.
"Now see here, my good woman, stop all this crying and talk quietly,"
cut in the policeman in a curt but not unkind tone. "If you will tell us
the truth, perhaps we can help you. In any case we must know exactly
what happened."
"She must understand that anything she says can be used against her,"
cautioned the detective, who in spite of his eagerness to solve the
mystery was determined the culprit should have fair play.
"Indeed, I don't care, sir," protested the maid, wiping her eyes on her
ridiculously small apron. "I can't be any worse off than I am now with a
policeman taking me to the lock-up. I'll tell the gentlemen the truth, I
swear I will."
With a courtesy he habitually displayed toward all womanhood Mr. Tolman
drew forward a chair and she sank gratefully into it.
"I spied the bill book in the young gentleman's pocket the minute he
took off his coat," began she in a low tone. "It was bright colored and
as it was sticking part way out I couldn't help seeing it. Of course, I
expected he would take it with him into the dining room but when he
didn't I came to the conclusion that there couldn't be anything of value
in it. But by and by I had more coats to hang up and one of them, a big,
heavy, fur-lined one, brushed against the young gentleman's ulster and
knocked the pocketbook out on to the floor so that it lay open under the
coat rack. It was then that I saw it was stuffed full of papers and
things."
She stopped a moment to catch her breath and then went resolutely on:
"It seemed to me it was no sort of a plan to put the wallet back into
the lad's pocket, for when I wasn't looking somebody might take it. So I
decided I much better keep it safe for him, and maybe," she owned with a
blush, "get a good-sized tip for doing it. I have a big pocket in my
underskirt where I carry my own money and I slipped it right in there,
meaning to hand it to the young man when he came out from lunch."
The corners of her mouth twitched and her tears began to fall again, but
she wiped them away with her apron and proceeded steadily:
"But nothing turned out as I planned, for no sooner was the bill book in
my pocket than I was called away to help about the wraps at a lady's
luncheon upstairs. There were so many people about the hall that I had
no chance to restore the bill book to the lad's pocket without some one
seeing me and thinking, perhaps, that I was stealing. There was no help
but to take it with me, trusting they would not keep me long upstairs
and that I would get back to my regular place before the young gentleman
came out of the dining room. It was when I got out of the elevator in
the upper hall that I spied Dick, one of the bell boys I knew, and I
called to him; and after explaining that I couldn't get away to go
downstairs I asked him to take the wallet and put it in 47's pocket.
He's a good-natured little chap and always ready to do an errand, and
more than that he's an honest boy. So I felt quite safe and went to
work, supposing the young man had his pocketbook long ago."
All eyes were turned upon the unlucky bell boy who hung his head and
colored uncomfortably.
"So it was the boy who took the contents of the pocketbook!" was Mr.
Ackerman's comment.
"Speak up, boy," commanded the officer. "The gentleman is talking to
you." The lad looked up with a frightened start.
He might have been sixteen years of age but he did not look it for he
was pale and underfed; nor was there anything in his bearing to indicate
the poise and maturity of one who was master of the occasion. On the
contrary, he was simply a boy who was frankly distressed and frightened,
and as unfeignedly helpless in the present emergency as if he had been
six years old and been caught stealing jam from the pantry shelf. It did
not take more than a glance to convince the onlookers that he was no
hardened criminal. If he had done wrong it had been the result either of
impulse or mischief, and the dire result of his deed was a thing he had
been too unsophisticated to foresee. The plight in which he now found
himself plainly amazed and overwhelmed him and he looked pleadingly at
his captors.
"Well, my boy, what have you to say for yourself?" repeated Mr. Ackerman
more gently.
"Nothin'."
"Nothing?"
"No, sir."
"You did take the things out of the pocketbook then."
"Yes, sir."
"But you are not a boy accustomed to taking what does not belong to
you."
The culprit shot a glance of gratitude toward the speaker but made no
reply.
"How did you happen to do it this time?" persisted Mr. Ackerman kindly.
"Come, tell me all about it."
Perhaps it was the ring of sympathy in the elder man's voice that won
the boy's heart. Whatever the charm, it conquered; and he met the eyes
that scanned his countenance with a timid smile.
"I wanted to see what was in the pocketbook," said he with naive
honesty, "and so I took the things out to look at them. I wasn't goin'
to keep 'em. I dodged into one of the little alcoves in the hall and had
just pulled the papers out when I heard somebody comin'. So I crammed
the whole wad of stuff into my pocket, waiting for a time when I could
look it over and put it back. But I got held up just like Mrs. Nolan
did," he pointed toward the woman in the chair. "Some man was sick and
the clerk sent me to get a bottle of medicine the minute I got
downstairs, and all I had the chance to do was to stick the empty wallet
in 47's pocket and beat it for the drug store. I thought there would be
letters or something among the papers that would give the name of the
man they belonged to, and I'd take 'em to the clerk at the desk an' say
I found 'em. But no sooner had I got the medicine up to room Number 792
than the policeman nabbed me with the papers an' things on me. That's
all there is to it, sir."
"Have you the things now?" the officer put in quickly.
"Sure! Didn't I just tell you I hadn't had the chance to hand 'em over
to the clerk," the boy reiterated, pulling a wad of crumpled Liberty
Bonds and documents out of his pocket, and tumbling them upon the table.
There was no doubting the lad's story. Truth spoke in every line of his
face and in the frankness with which he met the scrutiny of those who
listened to him. If one had questioned his uprightness the facts bore
out his statements, for once out of the hotel on an errand he might
easily have taken to his heels and never returned; or he might have
disposed of his booty during his absence. But he had done neither. He
had gone to the drug store and come back with every intention of making
restitution for the result of his curiosity. That was perfectly evident.
"I'm sorry, sir," he declared, when no one spoke. "I know I shouldn't
have looked in the pocketbook or touched the papers; but I meant no
harm--honest I didn't."
"I'll be bound of that, sir," the woman interrupted. "Dick was ever a
lad to be trusted. The hotel people will tell you that. He's been here
several years and there's never been a thing against him. I blame myself
for getting him into this trouble, for without meaning to I put
temptation in his way. I know that what he's told you is the living
truth, and I pray you'll try and believe him and let him go. If harm was
to come to the lad through me I'd never forgive myself. Let the boy go
free and put the blame on me, if you must arrest somebody. I'm older and
it doesn't so much matter; but it's terrible to start a child of his
age in as a criminal. The name will follow him through life. He'll
never get rid of it and have a fair chance. Punish me but let the little
chap go, I beg of you," pleaded the woman, with streaming eyes.
Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat; it was plain that the simple eloquence
of the request had touched him deeply.
"With your permission, officer, I am going to withdraw my charge," he
said, with a tremor in his voice. "You are to let both these persons go
scot free. You, my good woman, meant well but acted foolishly. As for
the boy, Donovan, I will assume the responsibility for him."
"You are willing to stand behind him, Mr. Ackerman?"
"I am."
The detective turned toward the boy who had risen and was fumbling
awkwardly with the brass buttons adorning his uniform.
"You hear, Dick Martin, what the gentleman says," began he impressively.
"He believes you are a good boy, and as you have handed back the
valuables in your possession he is going to take a chance on you and let
you go."
A wave of crimson swept over the face of the boy and for the first time
the tension in the youthful countenance relaxed.
"But Mr. Ackerman," Donovan continued, "expects you are going to behave
yourself in future and never do such a thing again."
"I am going to see your father, Dick," broke in Mr. Ackerman's kindly
voice, "and talk with him and--"
"I haven't any father," declared the lad.
"Your mother then."
"I've no mother either."
"Who do you live with?"
"Mr. Aronson."
"Is he a relative?"
"Oh, no, sir! I haven't any relatives. There's nobody belongin' to me.
Mr. Aronson is the tailor downstairs where I sleep. When I ain't working
here I do errands for him and he lets me have a cot in a room with four
other boys--newsboys, bell hops and the like. We pay two dollars between
us for the room and sometimes when I carry a lot of boxes round for Mr.
Aronson he gives me my breakfast."
"Nobody else is responsible for you?"
"Nop!" returned the boy with emphasis. "No, sir, I mean."
"I'll attend to all this, Donovan," murmured Mr. Ackerman in an
undertone to the detective. "The lad shall not remain there. I don't
know yet just what I'll do with him but I will plan something." Then
addressing the lad, he continued, "In the meantime, Dick, you are to
consider me your relative. Later I shall hunt you up and we will get
better acquainted. Be a good boy, for I expect some day you are going to
make me very proud of you."
"What!"
In sheer astonishment the boy regarded his benefactor.
There was something very appealing in the little sharp-featured face
which had now lost much of its pallor and softened into friendliness.
"Why shouldn't you make me proud of you?" inquired Mr. Ackerman softly.
"You can, you know, if you do what is right."
"I'm goin' to try to, sir," burst out Dick with earnestness. "I'm goin'
to try to with all my might."
"That is all any one can ask of you, sonny," replied the steamboat
magnate. "Come, shake hands. Remember, I believe in you, and shall trust
you to live up to your word. The officer is going to let you go and none
of us is going to mention what has happened. I will fix up everything
for you and Mrs. Nolan so you can both go back to your work without
interference. Now bid Mr. Tolman and his son good-by and run along.
Before I leave the hotel I will look you up and you can give me Mr.
Aronson's address."
Master Richard Martin needed no second bidding. Eager to be gone he
awkwardly put out his hand, first to Mr. Tolman and then to Steve; and
afterward, with a shy smile to the detective and the policeman and a
boyish duck of his head, he shot into the hall and they heard him
rushing pell-mell down the corridor. Mrs. Nolan, however, was more
self-controlled. She curtsied elaborately to each of the men and called
down upon their heads every blessing that the sky could rain, and it was
only after her breath had become quite exhausted that she consented to
retire from the room and in company with the policeman and the detective
proceeded downstairs in the elevator.
"Well, Tolman," began the New Yorker when they were at last alone, "you
see my heart was my best pilot. I put faith in it and it led me aright.
Unfortunately it is now too late for the matinee but may I not renew my
invitation and ask you and your son to dine with me this evening and
conclude our eventful day by going to the theater afterward?"
Mr. Tolman hesitated.
"Don't refuse," pleaded the steamboat man. "Our acquaintance has, I
confess, had an unfortunate beginning; but a bad beginning makes for a
good ending, they say, and I feel sure the old adage will prove true in
our case. Accept my invitation and let us try it out."
"You are very kind," murmured Mr. Tolman vaguely, "but I--"
"Help me to persuade your father to be generous, Stephen," interposed
Mr. Ackerman. "We must not let a miserable affair like this break up
what might, perhaps, have been a delightful friendship."
"I don't need any further persuading, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman spoke
quickly. "I accept your invitation with great pleasure."
"That's right!" cried Mr. Ackerman, with evident gratification.
"Suppose you come to my house at seven o'clock if that will be
convenient for you. We will have a pleasant evening together and forget
lost pocketbooks, detectives and policemen."
Taking out a small card, he hurriedly scrawled an address upon it.
"I keep a sort of bachelor's hall out on Riverside Drive," explained he,
with a shade of wistfulness. "My butler looks out for me and sees that I
do not starve to death. He and his son are really excellent housekeepers
and make me very comfortable." He slipped into his overcoat. "At seven,
then," he repeated. "Don't fail me for I should be much disappointed.
Good-by!" and with a wave of his hand he departed, leaving Stephen and
his father to themselves.