Trial Justice Davis sat in his office. He was a man of sixty, with a
keen but not unbenevolent face, looking all the more sagacious,
perhaps, because of a pair of gold spectacles which surmounted his
nose. He had been apprised of the trial at which he was expected to
preside, and he looked surprised and regretful.
“I can’t believe that boy is guilty,” he said to himself. “I have
always looked upon him as one of the best boys in town.”
At nine, the principal parties concerned entered the office. First,
Colonel Ross and Philip walked in—Philip with an attempt to be at ease,
but with a perceptibly nervous air, notwithstanding.
Harry Gilbert entered, walking beside the constable. Behind him
followed his mother and Uncle Obed. Mrs. Gilbert looked anxious, though
the constable assured her that there was no need of it, and that Harry
would be triumphantly acquitted. Harry did not look in the least
frightened, but seemed much more at ease than Philip.
A trial before a police justice in a country town is much more informal
than in a city, and this should be remembered by those who read this
chapter.
“What charge do you bring against Harry Gilbert, Colonel?” asked the
justice.
“I charge him with entering my house on the evening of the nineteenth
instant, opening the small trunk in which I keep my valuable papers and
securities, and abstracting therefrom two United States Government
bonds, of the par value of a hundred dollars each.”
“You hear the charge, Harry,” said the justice. “Are you guilty or not
guilty?”
“Not guilty,” answered Harry, in clear, ringing accents, surveying the
Colonel proudly.
“You ought to have some one to defend you,” said the justice.
“I will defend myself,” said Harry, resolutely.
“Very well. Colonel Ross, I will hear your testimony.”
The Colonel, being sworn, testified that he had missed the bonds on the
morning afterward, and had been led, by what his son told him, to
suspect Harry Gilbert. He had gone to the cottage, and found the bonds.
He was about to rehearse Philip’s information, but the justice stopped
him, and said he would hear Philip in person.
“Have you any question to ask the witness?” asked the justice of Harry.
“Can I reserve my questions?” asked Harry.
“Yes; if you desire it.”
Philip was next sworn. He testified that, on the evening in question,
he had seen Harry prowling round the house, just before going up to
bed.
“How did you happen to sit up so late?” asked Harry.
“That’s my affair,” replied Philip, haughtily.
“Answer!” thundered the justice, angrily. “No insolence here, sir!”
“I was reading,” said Philip, frightened.
“Did you go into the room where the trunk was?” asked Harry, in his
capacity as lawyer.
“Ye-es.”
“Did you open the trunk?”
“No,” answered Philip, nervously.
“I protest against the prisoner’s insolence to my son,” exclaimed
Colonel Ross, angrily.
“It is a question he has a right to ask,” said the justice, calmly.
“Did you see the keys which your father left on his desk?” asked Harry.
“No,” answered Philip, ill at ease.
“I should now like to question Colonel Ross,” said Harry.
The Colonel, with a curl of the lip, took the stand again.
“Really,” he said, “it looks as if my son and I were on trial instead
of the prisoner.”
“Colonel Ross, you must be aware that I am according Harry no unusual
privileges. It is as a lawyer—his own advocate—that he questions you.”
“Go on,” said the Colonel, haughtily.
“Colonel Ross,” continued Harry, “do you generally keep a list of the
numbers on your bonds?”
“Of course!”
“Can you furnish the numbers of the bonds that were taken from you?”
“I can give the numbers of the whole ten bonds. I don’t know which were
taken. I have not compared my list with those that remain.”
“Have you the numbers with you?”
“Yes, I have them in my notebook.”
“Will you be kind enough to repeat them so that the court may take them
down?”
“Certainly! though I don’t see what good that will do.”
“It is of material importance,” said the justice, nodding approval.
Colonel Ross drew from his inside coat pocket a large wallet, and,
opening it, took out a memorandum, from which he read as follows:
“The numbers run from 17,810 to 17,817, inclusive.”
“Then the stolen bonds are somewhere between those numbers?” said
Harry.
“Of course.”
Harry turned to the constable.
“Mr. Rogers,” he said, “have you the bonds which were found at our
house?”
“Yes,” answered the constable.
“Will you hand them to Squire Davis, and ask him to read off the
numbers?”
“You will do as Harry requests you,” said the justice.
The constable placed the envelope in his hands, and Justice Davis,
opening it, drew out three bonds.
“I find two one-hundred-dollar bonds,” he said, “and one fifty-dollar
bond.”
“The two hundred-dollar bonds are mine,” said Colonel Ross.
“That is, you claim them,” said the justice, cautiously. “I will read
the numbers.
“This one,” he proceeded, unfolding one, “is numbered 9,867, and the
other”—after a pause—“11,402. It strikes me, Colonel Ross, that you
will have to look further for your bonds.”
If such a dignified-looking man as Colonel Ross could look foolish, the
Colonel looked so at that moment. He realized that he had made a
ridiculous exhibition of himself, and he felt mortified to think that
he had been so careless as not to have thought of comparing the numbers
of the bonds the moment he had discovered them in Harry Gilbert’s
possession.
“Harry Gilbert is honorably discharged, and the bonds are restored to
him,” said the justice.
“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, glancing not without natural exultation,
at Colonel Ross and Philip.
Philip, by the way, looked as uncomfortable as his father.
Here there was an unexpected and startling interruption.
“I can tell Colonel Ross all about it!” said a distinct voice from near
the door.
“Come forward then and give your information,” said the justice.
This call was answered by Tom Calder, who elbowed his way to the front,
dressed in his farm attire, and in his shirt sleeves.
Philip’s face might have been observed to grow pale when he heard Tom’s
voice, and he looked decidedly sick when the boy walked up to give his
testimony. Unobserved by any one, for all eyes were fixed upon Tom, he
edged to the door, and slipped out, in an agony of apprehension, for he
foresaw what was coming.
“Proceed,” said the justice.
“That night when the Colonel missed the bonds,” began Tom, “I was
coming home some time after nine, when I happened to look into the
window, and there I saw Phil Ross with his father’s little trunk open
before him. I saw him take out a couple of bonds, and slip them into
his inside pocket. Then he carefully locked the trunk again, laid the
keys on the desk, and left the room. That’s all I saw.”
“It’s a falsehood!” ejaculated Colonel Ross, furiously.
“You just ask Phil about it, Colonel,” said Tom, composedly.
Colonel Ross looked around for Philip, but no Philip was to be seen.
“I seed him slip out of the door just as Tom was beginnin’ to talk,”
said a small urchin.
Overcome with mortification, and compelled to suspect that Tom’s story
was true, Colonel Ross hurried home, where he found Philip.
Sternly calling him to account, the Colonel extorted a confession, not
only that he had taken the bonds, but what had become of them. The
result was that information was sent to the police of New York, and
James Congreve was arrested.
I may as well finish this part of the story by saying that Congreve was
compelled to give up what remained of his ill-gotten gains, but Colonel
Ross failed to prosecute him, because he could not do so without
involving his own son also. It was only two months, however, before
Congreve was detected in a more serious affair, for which he was forced
to stand trial, and is even now serving a term of imprisonment,
received as a penalty for the later crime.
As for Philip, he was so mortified and shamed by the exposure of his
dishonesty, and his attempt to fix the crime upon another, that he
asked his father to send him to a boarding school at a distance, and
his request was complied with.
Tom Calder was immediately discharged by Colonel Ross, but within a
week he was engaged elsewhere at an advanced salary. His new employer
was Mr. Obed Wilkins, better known to us as Uncle Obed.
If this statement excites surprise, I must refer my readers to the next
chapter for an explanation.