"Orr, Mr. Black wants you."
Jack, who was passing through the business department of the Hammerton
office, toward the stair which led to the operating room, promptly turned
aside and entered the manager's private room.
"Good morning, Jack. Sit down.
"My boy," began the manager, "can you keep a secret?"
"Why yes, sir," responded Jack, wondering.
"Very well. But I must explain first. I suppose you did not know it--we
kept it quiet--but the real reason Hansen, the janitor, was discharged a
month ago was that he was found taking money from the safe here, which he
had in some way learned to open. After he left I changed the safe
combination, and thought the trouble was at an end.
"Last Tuesday morning the cash was again a little short. At the time I
simply thought an error had been made in counting the night before. This
morning a second ten-dollar bill is missing, and the cash-box shows
unmistakable signs of having been tampered with.
"Now Johnson, the counter clerk, to whom I had confided the new
combination (for it is customary, you know, that two shall be able to open
a safe, as a precaution against the combination being forgotten)--Johnson
is entirely above suspicion. Still, to make doubly sure, I am going to
alter the combination once more, and share it with someone outside of the
business department. And as you have impressed me very favorably, I have
chosen you.
"That is, of course," concluded the manager, "if you have no objection."
"Certainly not. I am sure I appreciate the confidence, sir," said Jack
quickly.
"Very well, then. The combination is 'Right twenty, twice; back nine;
right ten.' Can you remember that? For you must not write it down, you
know."
Jack repeated the number several times; and again thanking the manager
for the compliment, continued up-stairs to the telegraph-room.
Two mornings later Jack was again called into Mr. Black's office. For a
moment, while Jack wondered, the manager eyed him strangely, then asked,
"What was that combination, Jack?"
"Right ninety--no, right thirty--Why, I believe I have forgotten it,
sir," declared Jack in confusion.
"Perhaps you have forgotten this too, then?" As he spoke the manager took
from his desk a small notebook. "I found it on the floor in front of the
safe this morning."
"It is mine, sir. I must have dropped it last night. I worked extra until
after midnight, sir," explained Jack, "and on the way out I chased a
mouse in here from the stairway, and when it ran under the safe I dropped
to my knees to find it. The book must have fallen from my pocket.
"But what is wrong, sir?"
"The cash-box is not in the safe this morning."
Jack started back, the color fading from his cheeks as the significance
of it all came to him.
"And now you pretend to have the combination entirely wrong," went on the
manager.
Jack found his voice. "Mr. Black, you are mistaken! You are mistaken! I
never could do such a thing! Never!"
"I would prefer proof," Mr. Black said coldly.
Jack caught at the idea. "Would you let me try to prove it, sir? Will you
give me a week in which to try and clear myself?"
"Well, I did not mean it that way. But, all right--a week. And if things
do not look different by that time, and you still claim ignorance, you
will have to go. That is all there is to it."
"Thank you, sir."
At the door Jack turned back. "Mr. Black, you are positive you returned
the box to the safe?"
"Positive. It is the last thing I do before going home."
During spare moments on his wire that morning Jack debated the mystery
from every side. Finally he had boiled it down to two conflicting facts:
"First: That the box was placed in the safe the night before, and in the
morning was gone; and that, besides the manager, he was the only one who
could have opened the safe and taken it. And,
"Second: That, of course, he knew his own innocence."
The only alternative, then, was that Mr. Black had been mistaken in
thinking he had returned the box to the safe.
Grasping at this possibility, Jack argued on. How could the manager have
been mistaken? Overlooked the box, say because of its being covered by
something?
"Why it may be there yet!" exclaimed Jack hopefully. And a few minutes
later, relieved from his wire for lunch, he hurriedly descended again to
the manager's office.
"Mr. Black, may I look around here a bit?" he requested.
"Look around? What for?"
"To see if I cannot find something to help solve this mystery," responded
Jack, not wishing directly to suggest that the manager had overlooked the
box.
"So you keep to it that you know nothing, eh? Well, go ahead," said the
manager shortly, turning back to his desk.
Jack's hopes were quickly shattered. Neither on the desk, nor a table
beside the safe, was there anything which could have concealed the
missing box.
Stooping, he glanced under the table. Something white, a newspaper,
leaning against the wall, caught his eye. With a flutter of hope he
reached beneath and threw it aside. There was nothing behind it.
Disappointedly he caught the newspaper up and tossed it into the
waste-basket. Suddenly, on a thought, he recovered the paper, and opened
it. On discovering it was the "Bulletin," a paper he knew Mr. Black
seldom read, the idea took definite shape. And, yes, it was of
yesterday's date!
"Mr. Black," exclaimed Jack, "this is not your paper, is it?"