THE AMATEUR DETECTIVE.
"Oscar is too good for any use," said Sam, turning to Miles and
speaking in a low whisper. "If Stuart had talked about me as I
know he has talked about him, I'd never make up with him in that
fashion--never! Let's go home!"
"Oh, no!" whispered Miles in reply. "I haven't seen any birds yet, and
neither have you said a word to Oscar about that duck hunt."
Sam pulled out his knife and hunted around on the bench until he found
a pine stick, which he proceeded to cut up into the smallest possible
pieces; while Miles, after listening to some explanations that Oscar
was making for the benefit of the clerk, went into the recess.
Sam was standing with his back to the three boys, but he could
distinctly see every move they made.
On the wall, opposite the curtain, hung a broken mirror, which had once
held an honored place in Mrs. Preston's parlor.
Sam glanced into this mirror now and then, while he was engaged in
cutting up his stick, and saw that Stuart was paying very little
attention to what Oscar was saying to him.
He appeared to be very uneasy, for he was constantly stepping about,
and most of the time he kept his eyes fastened intently on Sam.
When Miles came in and began questioning Oscar about the specimen
he was holding in his hands, Stuart walked to the other side of the
recess, ran his eye over the stuffed occupants of the shelves, and then
he came out into the shop and examined the tree on which Mr. Jackson's
birds were to be mounted. After that he looked at Sam again.
The latter was standing a little to one side of the mirror, with his
hat drawn down over his forehead, and seemed to see nothing but the
stick he was whittling.
In the work-bench, directly under the tree, was an open drawer in which
Oscar kept his paints, brushes, and various odds and ends.
Stuart moved up close beside this drawer, looked first at Sam, then at
Miles and Oscar, who were still talking earnestly in the recess, and
as quick as thought pulled something out of his coat pocket, raised a
sheet of sand-paper that lay on the bottom of the drawer, and placed
the object, whatever it was, under it.
This done, he backed up against the drawer, and pushed it to its place.
He leaned on the bench for a few seconds, looking toward Oscar, as if
he were listening to what he was saying, and then suddenly straightened
up.
"I must be going," said he, starting toward the door. "I hope I haven't
put you to any trouble, Oscar."
"None whatever," replied the latter.
And Sam noticed, with no little satisfaction, that he did not ask the
clerk to call again.
When Stuart closed the door behind him, Sam shut up his knife and
slammed his stick down in the corner. The noise attracted the
attention of Miles, who looked over his shoulder, and was surprised to
see Sam holding one forefinger upon his lips, and beckoning eagerly to
him with the other.
Miles came out into the shop with an inquiring look on his face, while
Oscar lingered in the recess to arrange the plumage of one of the
specimens which had become rumpled while he was handling it.
Sam walked over to the drawer of the work-bench and opened it, standing
with his back toward Oscar.
"I know now what that rascal came here for," said he, in a scarcely
audible whisper, "and I want you for a witness."
"What's that?" asked Miles, in his ordinary tone of voice, as his
companion raised a sheet of sand-paper, and brought to light the
article Stuart had placed there a few minutes before.
"Say not a word," cautioned Sam, "but come with me and I'll tell you
all about it."
"Don't you fellows know that it is very rude to whisper in the presence
of a third party?" said Oscar gravely. "I am surprised at you. You did
it while Stuart was in here, and I should like to know what you mean by
it."
"We didn't want either of you to know what we were talking about,"
answered Sam. "I wouldn't have treated him as well as you did, and I
don't think you would have been quite so cordial if you knew as much as
we know," he added, with a significant glance at Miles.
"Oh, that's the trouble, is it? Never mind. We were not put here in
this world to quarrel with everybody who doesn't like us. If we did
that, we'd have time for little else. You are not going?" said Oscar,
as Sam started for the door, with Miles close at his heels.
"Yes, we are. We have some business that must be attended to at once.
I'll see you again before I go home."
Sam banged the door as he ceased speaking, and walked through the yard
so rapidly that Miles could hardly keep pace with him.
When he had closed the gate behind him, he turned down the sidewalk and
hurried on faster than ever.
"Hold up here," protested Miles. "You said you would tell me all about
it, and how are we going to talk if you go ahead with railroad speed?
What was it you took out of that drawer, and what business had you to
touch it? I thought it was a pocket-book."
Sam stopped abruptly, and drew the article in question from the inside
pocket of his coat.
It _was_ a pocket-book, and quite a large one, too. It was made to
carry bills at full length.
It was filled with papers, but Sam did not know whether or not there
was any money in it, for he had not opened it, and he did not intend to
do so.
He placed his finger under the silver clasp with which it was fastened,
and held it up so that his friend could see it.
"What name is that?" he asked.
"Erastus Smith," replied Miles.
"Exactly. You saw me take this pocket-book out of that drawer, didn't
you?"
"Of course I did."
"Well, I know who put it there, for I saw him do it."
Sam brought the pocket-book down into his open palm with a sounding
whack, and looked at his companion as if he thought he had made
everything perfectly clear to him; but Miles only seemed bewildered.
"I should think you might see through the matter after I have explained
it to you," said Sam, with some impatience.
"But you haven't explained it," answered Miles.
"That's so," admitted Sam, after reflecting a moment. "I'll do it
now, while we walk along slowly. Stuart put this pocket-book in the
drawer--for, as I told you, I saw him do it. He came into the shop for
that very purpose. He is the fellow who has been stealing Mr. Smith's
money, but he is trying his level best to fasten the guilt upon Oscar."
"Oh, I begin to understand the matter!" said Miles, his face flushing
with indignation.
"Now the credit for the discovery I have made does not belong to me,"
continued Sam, who was as truthful and honest as he was blunt and
fearless. "I never should have thought of it if it hadn't been for
something Mr. Parker said to me. He told me the other day that if
there had been any stealing going on in that store since Tom Preston
left, Stuart was the guilty one; and the reason Mr. Parker suspected
him was because he has had so much to say against Oscar. He has told
everybody in town who would listen to him that Oscar was discharged
for till-tapping; and there were a good many who would listen to him,
for there are people everywhere, you know, who take unbounded delight
in hearing others slandered. I had two reasons for watching every move
Stuart made while he was in the shop. I thought it would be a good plan
to keep an eye on him, and I was impatient to see him start for the
door. I didn't want him there."
"It was a wonder he didn't see that you were watching him," observed
Miles.
"Do you remember that broken looking-glass that hangs on the north wall
of the shop?" asked Sam. "I looked in there and saw everything he did."
Miles was astonished at his companion's shrewdness, and could only look
the admiration he felt for him.
"But what made you rush out of the shop in such a hurry?" he inquired
at length. "Why didn't you tell Oscar all about it, and relieve his
mind at once?"
"Oh, it will not hurt him to wait a day or two longer," rejoined Sam;
"and his vindication will be all the more welcome when it comes, as I
am determined it shall come, through the man who has injured him. Mr.
Smith has done Oscar a great deal of harm, and he must lose no time in
undoing it. Now, then, here we are."
Sam stepped upon the threshold of Smith & Anderson's store, seized the
latch with a determined grip, as if he were trying to break it in two,
threw open the door and walked in.
The first person he met was Stuart, who started back in surprise at the
sight of him. He was greatly alarmed--Sam could see that plainly--and
he tried to conceal it by stepping briskly behind the counter and
drawing the order book toward him.
"What can I do for you, boys?" he asked, as he held his pencil poised
over the book.
"Nothing," growled Sam, who could not possibly have spoken civilly to
one whom he had caught in the act of trying to ruin his friend.
He kept on his way toward the office, and Stuart, as if divining his
intention, said hurriedly, and in a low tone of voice:
"There's no one in there, Sam. Mr. Anderson has gone to the depot to
see about some freight, and Mr. Smith has just stepped out. In fact, he
has gone home, and won't be back to-night. Any word to leave for either
of them?"
Sam shook his head and walked right on.
"That's a little too transparent," said he to Miles, who kept close at
his side. "What did he want to whisper for? and why did he turn so red
in the face? I'll warrant Mr. Anderson isn't near the depot, and that
we shall find Mr. Smith perched on his high stool. He's always there
since Tom went away."
At that moment, as if to confirm his words, the back door opened and
Mr. Anderson came in. He was bareheaded, and had no overcoat on.
Moreover, he carried a number of packages in his arms, and that was all
the proof the boys needed to convince them that he had been busy in
the warehouse.
When they entered the office, they found the senior partner right where
Sam said they would find him--on his high stool.
He laid down his pen and looked at the boys over his spectacles, just
as he had looked at Oscar on the day he discharged him.
"Mr. Smith," said Sam, "may we have a few minutes' private conversation
with you?"
"I suppose so," was the reply. "Is it very private?"
"Well, we would rather you alone should hear what we have to say. If
you choose to repeat it, that is your own affair."
As Sam spoke, he closed the door behind him, and turned the key in the
lock.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the grocer; "what's the matter?"
"Mr. Smith," said Sam, without replying to the question, "have you lost
any money lately?"
"Not a cent since Oscar went away," was the prompt reply.
"Now, let me tell you what's a fact!" exclaimed Sam. "We didn't come
here to listen to any hard words against Oscar Preston, and if you are
going to use them we'll not stay. We'll tell you that much to begin
with. We will tell you, further, that you have made no friends by the
slanderous reports you have circulated regarding that boy."
"I have circulated no slanderous reports about him," replied the
grocer, who could scarcely believe his ears. "I said that I didn't
think he was honest, and I say so yet."
"Yes; the story is all over town that you discharged Oscar because you
thought he had taken money out of your drawer; but all the best people
here know that he never did it. You say you have lost nothing lately.
Do you happen to own a pocket-book about so long and so wide?" said
Sam, placing his hands upon the desk, and indicating by them the length
and breadth of the article he was describing.
Mr. Smith started as if he had been shot, and got off his high stool
with such haste that he would have gone headlong to the floor if Miles
had not caught him and placed him fairly on his feet again.
He opened the door of a large safe that stood in one corner of the
office, and, unlocking a little drawer on the inside, pulled it out and
looked into it.
"Great Moses!" he ejaculated; "it is gone!"
"I thought so," said Sam. "Was there anything of value in it?"
"_Was_ there?" shouted Mr. Smith, trembling all over with excitement.
"There was a hundred and fifty dollars in money in it, and negotiable
paper to the amount of eight hundred dollars more. Have you seen it,
Sam? Have you got it? Hand it out here!"
"Now don't try to rush matters," said Sam, whose cool, deliberate way
of talking and acting so exasperated the excited grocer that he could
hardly refrain from laying violent hands upon him and searching his
pockets. "This thing must be done decently and in order, or it can't
be done at all. I certainly have a pocket-book in my possession, but I
want to be sure that it belongs to you before I hand it over to you.
Here, Miles, look at it while Mr. Smith describes it."
"That's it! that's it!" cried the grocer, catching a momentary glimpse
of the pocket-book as Sam handed it to his companion. "I would know it
among a thousand. It's mine! Give it to me!"
He made an effort to snatch it, but Sam was too quick for him. He
succeeded in placing it in Miles's hands, and the latter held fast to
it.
"Sam!" cried the angry and astonished grocer, picking up a heavy ruler
and banging it down upon his desk, "do you think I would tell you a
falsehood? Do you take _me_ for a thief?"
"All I have to say about that is, if we want people to put implicit
faith in us, we must be careful how we accuse others of wrong,"
answered Sam boldly. "Now, what sort of a pocket-book is it?"
Miles had moved up close to the window, and stood with his back toward
the grocer, holding the pocket-book in his hand, and waiting for him to
describe it. He thought he was well acquainted with Sam Hynes, but he
told himself now that he had never before known what sort of a fellow
he was. He was astonished at Sam's impudence.
Mr. Smith was one of the oldest business men in Eaton; and although
he was so close in his dealings, and thought so much of a dollar that
he had never gained the respect or good-will of the majority of the
people, he had never been suspected of dishonesty or untruthfulness.
And Sam did not by any means suspect him now. He simply wished to show
Mr. Smith that he had been handling a two-edged sword that was liable
to cut both ways.