WHO WAS THE THIEF?
When Roswell rose the next morning he felt cross and out of sorts. His
head still ached a little, and he wished he were not obliged to go to
the store. But it was out of the question to remain at home, so he
started about half an hour after the usual time, and of course arrived
late.
"You are late this morning," said Mr. Baker. "You must be more
particular about being here in good season."
Roswell muttered something about not feeling quite well.
Putting his hand into his pocket by chance, his fingers came in contact
with the key which he had made to open the cash drawer. Just as he was
passing Mark, he drew it out and let it drop into the side-pocket of
his jacket. So, if suspicion were excited, the key would be found on
Mark, not on him.
The critical moment came sooner than he had anticipated.
A Mr. Gay, one of the regular customers of the bookstore, entered a few
minutes later.
"Good-morning, Mr. Baker," he said. "Have you got a 'Tribune' this
morning?"
"Yes, here is one. By the way, you are just the man I wanted to see."
"Indeed, I feel complimented."
"Wait till you hear what I am going to say. You bought a copy of
'Corinne' here on Monday?"
"Yes."
"And handed me a five-dollar bill on the Park Bank?"
"Yes."
"Well, I find the bill was a skilfully executed counterfeit."
"Indeed! I didn't examine it very closely. But I know where I took it,
and will give you a good bill in exchange for it."
"I locked it up lest it should get out," said Mr. Baker.
He went to the drawer which Roswell had opened. Roswell listened to
this conversation with dismay. He realized that he was in a tight
place, for it was undoubtedly the five-dollar counterfeit which he
had taken, and paid to the Secretary of the Madison Club. He awaited
nervously the result of Mr. Baker's examination.
"Don't you find it?" asked Mr. Gay.
"It is very strange," said Mr. Baker. "I placed it at the top of a pile
of bills, and now it is gone."
"Look through the pile. Perhaps your memory is at fault," said Mr. Gay.
Mr. Baker did so.
"No," he said, "the bill has disappeared."
"Do you miss anything else?"
"No. The money is just five dollars short."
"Perhaps you forget yourself, and paid it away to a customer."
"Impossible; I always make change out of this drawer."
"Well, when you find it, I will make it right. I am in a hurry this
morning."
Mr. Gay went out.
"Has any one been to this drawer?" inquired Mr. Baker, abruptly.
"You always keep it locked,--do you not?" said Mr. Jones.
"And keep the key myself. Yes."
"Then I don't see how it could have been opened."
"There was nothing peculiar about the lock. There might easily be
another key to fit it."
"I hope you don't suspect me, Mr. Baker?"
"No, Mr. Jones, you have been with me five years, and I have perfect
confidence in you."
"Thank you, sir."
"I hope you don't suspect me, sir," said Roswell, boldly. "I am willing
to turn my pockets inside-out, to show that I have no key that will fit
the lock."
"Very well. You may do so."
Roswell turned his pockets inside-out, but of course no key was found.
"How lucky I got rid of it!" he thought.
"Now it's your turn, Mark," he said.
"I'm perfectly willing," said Mark, promptly.
He put his hand into his pocket, and, to his unutterable astonishment
and dismay, drew out a key.
"I didn't know I had this in my pocket," he said, startled.
"Hand me that key," said Mr. Baker, sternly.
Mark handed it to him mechanically.
Mr. Baker went behind the counter, and fitted the key in the lock. It
proved to open the drawer with ease.
"Where did you get this key?" he said.
"I didn't know I had it, sir," said Mark, earnestly. "I hope you will
believe me."
"I don't understand how you can hope anything of the kind. It seems
very clear that you have been at my drawer, and taken the missing
money. When did you take it?"
"I have never opened the drawer, nor taken your money," said Mark, in a
firm voice, though his cheek was pale, and his look was troubled.
"I am sorry to say that I do not believe you," said Mr. Baker, coldly.
"Once more, when did you take the five dollars?"
"I did not take it at all, sir."
"Have you lent the key to any one?"
"No, sir. I did not know I had it."
"I don't know what to do in the matter," said the bookseller, turning
to Mr. Jones, his assistant. "It seems clear to me that the boy took
the missing bill."
"I am afraid so," said Jones, who was a kind-hearted man, and pitied
Mark. "But I don't know when he could have had the chance. He is never
left alone in the store."
"Roswell," said Mr. Baker, "have you left Mark alone in the store at
any time within two or three days?"
Roswell saw the point of the inquiry, and determined, as a measure of
safety, to add falsehood to his former offence.
"Yes, sir," he said, in an apologetic tone, "I left him in the store
for two or three minutes yesterday."
"Why did you leave him? Did you go out of the store?"
"Yes, sir. A friend was passing, and I went out to speak to him. I
don't think I stayed more than two or three minutes."
"And Mark was left alone in the store?"
"Yes, sir. I had no idea that any harm would come of it."
Mark looked intently at Roswell when he uttered this falsehood.
"You had better confess, Mark, that you took the money when Roswell was
out of the store," said his employer. "If you make a full confession, I
will be as lenient with you as I can, considering your youth."
"Mr. Baker," said Mark, quietly, more at his ease now, since he began
to understand that there was a plot against him, "I cannot confess what
is not true. I don't know what Roswell means by what he has just said,
but I was not left alone in the store for a moment all day yesterday,
nor did Roswell go out to speak to a friend while I was about."
"There seems to be a conflict of evidence here," said Mr. Baker.
"I hope the word of a gentleman's son is worth more than that of a
match boy," said Roswell, haughtily.
"To whom do you refer, when you speak of a match boy?"
"To _him_," said Roswell, pointing to Mark. "He used to be a vagabond
boy about the streets selling matches, and sleeping anywhere he
could. No wonder he steals."
"I never stole in my life," said Mark, indignantly. "It is true that I
sold matches about the streets, and I should have been doing it now, if
it had not been for my meeting with kind friends."
"As to his having been a match boy, that has no bearing upon the
question," said Mr. Baker. "It is the discovery of the key in his
pocket that throws the gravest suspicion upon him. I must see his
friends, and inquire into the matter."
"Of course they will stand by him," said Roswell.
"We may get some light thrown upon his possession of the key, at any
rate, and can judge for ourselves."
"I shall keep you employed until this matter is investigated," said
Mr. Baker to Mark. "Here is a parcel of books to be carried to
Twenty-Seventh Street. Come back as soon as they are delivered."
Mark went out with a heavy heart, for it troubled him to think he was
under suspicion. Theft, too, he had always despised. He wondered if
Richard Hunter would believe him guilty. He could not bear to think
that so kind a friend should think so ill of him.
But Mark's vindication was not long in coming. He had been out scarcely
ten minutes when Roswell, on looking up, saw to his dismay Tracy, the
secretary of the Madison Club, entering the store. His heart misgave
him as to the nature of the business on which he had probably come.
He went forward hastily to meet him.
"How are you, Crawford?" said Tracy.
"Pretty well. I am very busy now. I will see you, after the store
closes, anywhere you please."
"Oh," said Tracy, in a voice loud enough for Mr. Baker to hear, "it
won't take a minute. The bill you gave me last night was a bad one. Of
course you didn't know it."
Roswell turned red and pale, and hoped Mr. Baker did not hear. But Mr.
Baker had caught the words, and came forward.
"Show me the bill, if you please, young gentleman," he said. "I have a
good reason for asking."
"Certainly, sir," said Tracy, rather surprised. "Here it is."
A moment's glance satisfied Mr. Baker that it was the missing bill.
"Did Roswell pay you this bill?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"For what did he owe it?"
"I am the secretary of the Madison Club, and this was paid as the
entrance fee."
"I recognize the bill," said Mr. Baker. "I will take it, if you please,
and you can look to him for another."
"Very well," said Tracy, puzzled by the words, the motive of which he
did not understand.
"Perhaps you will explain this," said Mr. Baker, turning to Roswell.
"It seems that you took this bill."
Roswell's confidence deserted him, and he stood pale and downcast.
"The key I presume, belonged to you."
"Yes, sir," he ejaculated, with difficulty.
"And you dropped it into Mark's pocket,--thus meanly trying to
implicate him in a theft which you had yourself committed."
Roswell was silent.
"Have you taken money before?"
"I never opened the drawer but once."
"That was not my question. Make a full confession, and I will not have
you arrested, but shall require you to make restitution of all the sums
you have stolen. I shall not include this bill, as it is now returned
to my possession. Here is a piece of paper. Write down the items."
Roswell did so. They footed up a little over six dollars.
Mr. Baker examined it.
"Is this all?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Half a week's wages are due you, I will therefore deduct three dollars
from this amount. The remainder I shall expect you to refund. I shall
have no further occasion for your services."
Roswell took his cap, and was about to leave the store.
"Wait a few minutes. You have tried to implicate Mark in your theft.
You must wait till his return, and apologize to him for what you have
attempted to do."
"Must I do this?" asked Roswell, ruefully.
"You must," said Mr. Baker, firmly.
When Mark came in, and was told how he had been cleared of suspicion,
he felt very happy. Roswell made the apology dictated to him, with a
very bad grace, and then was permitted to leave the store.
At home he tried to hide the circumstances attending his discharge from
his mother and his cousin; but the necessity of refunding the money
made that impossible.
It was only a few days afterwards that Mrs. Crawford received a
letter, informing her of the death of a brother in Illinois, and that
he had left her a small house and farm. She had found it so hard a
struggle for a livelihood in the city, that she decided to remove
thither, greatly to Roswell's disgust, who did not wish to be immured
in the country. But his wishes could not be gratified, and, sulky and
discontented, he was obliged to leave the choice society of the Madison
Club, and the attractions of New York, for the quiet of a country town.
Let us hope that, away from the influences of the city, his character
may be improved, and become more manly and self-reliant. It is only
just to say that he was led to appropriate what did not belong to him,
by the desire to gratify his vanity, and through the influence of a
bad adviser. If he can ever forget that he is "the son of a gentleman,"
I shall have some hopes for him.