CHAPTER VIIINEW YORK AND WHAT HAPPENED THERE
It took no very long interval to prove that there was some foundation for Mr. Tolman's last assertion, for within a short time the travelers were standing on Fifth Avenue amid the rush of traffic, and feeling of as little importance as dwarfs in a giant's country. The roar of the mighty city, its bustle and confusion, were both exhilarating and terrifying. They had left their luggage at the hotel and now, while Steve's father went to meet a business appointment, the boy was to take a ride up the Avenue on one of the busses, a diversion of which he never tired. To sit on top and look down on the throng in the streets was always novel and entertaining to one who passed his days in a quiet New England town. Therefore he stopped one of the moving vehicles and in great good humor bade his father good-by; and feeling very self-sufficient to be touring New York by himself, clambered eagerly up to a seat.
There were few passengers on the top of the coach for the chill of early morning still lingered in the air; but before they reached Riverside Drive a man with a bright, ruddy countenance and iron-greyhair hailed the bus and climbed up beside the boy. As he took his place he glanced at him kindly and instantly Steve felt a sense of friendliness toward the stranger; and after they had ridden a short distance in silence the man spoke.
"What a beautiful river the Hudson is!" he remarked. "Although I am an old New Yorker I never cease to delight in its charm and its fascinating history. It was on this body of water, you know, that the first steamboat was tried out."
"I didn't know it," Stephen confessed, with an honest blush.
"You will be learning about it some day, I fancy," said the other, with a smile. "An interesting story it is, too. All the beginnings of our great industries and inventions read like romances."
"My father has just been telling me about the beginnings of some of our railroads," observed Steve shyly, "and certainly his stories were as good as fairy tales."
"Is your father especially interested in railroads?" inquired the New Yorker.
"Yes, sir. He is in the railroad business."
"Ah, then that accounts for his filling your ears with locomotives instead of steamboats," declared the man, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now if I were to spin a yarn for you, it would be of steamboats because that happens to be the thing I am interested in; I believe their history to be one of the most alluring tales to which a boy could listen.Sometime you get a person who knows the drama from start to finish to relate to you the whole marvelous adventure of early steamboating, and you see if it does not beat the railroad story all out."
He laughed a merry laugh in which Stephen joined.
"I wish you would tell it to me yourself," suggested the lad.
The man turned with an expression of pleasure on his red-cheeked face.
"I should like nothing better, my boy," he said quickly, "but you see it is a long story and I am getting out at the next corner. Sometime, however, we may meet again. Who knows? And if we do you shall hold me to my promise to talk steamboats to you until you cry for mercy."
Bending down he took up a leather bag which he had placed between his feet.
"I am leaving you here, sonny," he said. "I take it you are in New York for a holiday."
"Yes, sir, I am," returned Steve with surprise. "My father and I are staying here just for a few days."
"I hope you will have a jolly good time during your visit," the man said, rising.
Stephen murmured his thanks and watched the erect figure descend from the coach and disappear into a side street. It was not until the New Yorker was well out of sight and the omnibus on its way that his eye was caught by the red bill book lying on the floor at his feet. None of the few scatteredpassengers had noticed it and stooping, he picked it up and quietly slipped it into his pocket.
What should he do with it?
Of course he could hand it over to the driver of the bus and tell him he had found it. But the man might not be honest and instead of turning it in to the company might keep it. There was little doubt in Steve's mind that the pocketbook belonged to the stranger who had just vacated the place and it was likely his address was inside it. If so, what a pleasure it would be to return the lost article to its rightful owner himself. By so doing he would not only be sure the pocketbook reached its destination but he might see the steamboat man again.
He longed to open the bill book and investigate its contents. What was in it, he wondered. Well, the top of a Fifth Avenue coach was no place to be looking through pocketbooks, there was no question about that. Let alone the fact that persons might be watching him, there was danger that in the fresh morning breeze something might take wing, sail down to the Hudson, and never be seen again. Therefore he decided to curb his impatience and wait until he reached a more favorable spot to examine his suddenly acquired treasure. Accordingly he tucked the long red wallet farther down into the breast pocket of his ulster, and feeling assured that nothing could be done about it at present, gave himself up to the pleasure and excitement of the drive.
It was not until he had rejoined his father at the hotel and the two were sitting at lunch in the great dining room that the thought of it again flashed into his mind.
"Gee, Dad!" he suddenly exclaimed, looking up from his plateful of fried chicken with fork suspended in mid-air. "I meant to tell you I found a pocketbook in the bus this morning."
"A pocketbook!"
"Yes, sir. I think the man who had been sitting beside me must have dropped it when he stooped over to get his bag. At any rate it was lying there after he got out."
"What did you do with it?" Mr. Tolman inquired with no great warmth of interest. "Gave it to the conductor, I suppose."
The boy shook his head.
"No, I didn't," was the answer. "I was afraid he might not turn it in, and as I liked the man who lost it I wanted to be sure he got it, so I brought it back with me."
"And where is it now?" demanded Mr. Tolman, now all attention. "I hope you were not so careless as to leave it upstairs in our room."
"No. I didn't leave it in the room," returned the lad. "It is out in my coat pocket. I meant to take it out and see what was in it; but so many things happened that I forgot about it until this very minute."
"You don't mean that you left it in your ulster pocket and let them hang it out there on the rack?"
"Yes."
"You checked your coat and left it there?"
"Why—yes," came the faltering reply.
Mr. Tolman was on his feet.
"Wait here until I come back," he said in a sharp tone.
"Where are you going?"
"Give me your check quickly," went on his father, without heeding the question. "Hurry!"
Steve fumbled in his jacket pocket.
"Be quick, son, be quick!" commanded Mr. Tolman impatiently. "Don't you know it is never safe to leave anything of value in your coat when you are staying at a large city hotel? Somebody may have taken the pocketbook already."
Scarlet with consternation the lad produced the check.
"If nothing has happened to that pocketbook you will be very fortunate," asserted the man severely. "Stay here! I will be right back."
With beating heart the boy watched him thread his way between the tables and disappear from the dining room into the lobby.
Suppose the bill book should be gone!
What if there had been valuable papers in it, money—a great deal of money—and now through his carelessness it had all disappeared? How stupid he had been not to remember about it and give it to his father the instant they had met! In fact, he would much better have taken a chance and handed it to the bus conductor thanto have done the foolish thing he had. He had meant so well and blundered so grievously! How often his father had cautioned him to be careful of money when he was traveling!
Tensely he sat in his chair and waited with miserable anxiety, his eyes fixed on the dining-room door. Then presently, to his great relief, he saw his father returning.
"Did you—" he began.
"You will have to come yourself, Steve," said the elder man whose brow was wrinkled into a frown of annoyance. "The maid who checked the coats is not there, and the one who is insists that the ulster is not mine, and in spite of the check will not allow me to search the pockets of it."
Stephen jumped up.
"I suppose she is right, too," went on Mr. Tolman breathlessly, "but the delay is very unfortunate."
They made their way into the corridor, where by this time an office clerk and another man had joined the maid who was in charge of the coat rack.
Stephen presented his check and without comment the woman handed him his coat. With trembling hand he dived into the deep pocket and from it drew forth the red bill book which he gave to his father.
"There it is, Dad, safe and sound!" he gasped.
Instantly the clerk was in their path.
"I beg pardon, sir," said he with deference, "but does that pocketbook belong to you?"
Mr. Tolman wheeled about.
"Eh—what did you say?" he inquired.
"I asked, sir, if that pocketbook was your property?" repeated the clerk.
Mr. Tolman faced his inquisitor.
"What business is that of yours?" he demanded curtly.
"I am sorry, sir, to appear rude," the hotel employee replied, "but we have been asked to be on the lookout for a young lad who rode this morning on one of the Fifth Avenue busses where a valuable pocketbook was lost. Your son tallies so well with the description that—"
"It was I," put in Stephen eagerly, without regard for consequences. "Who wants me?"
With a smile of eagerness he turned, expecting to encounter the genial face of his acquaintance of the morning. Then he would smile, hold out the pocketbook, and they would laugh together as he explained the adventure, and perhaps afterward have luncheon in company.
Instead no familiar form greeted him. On the contrary the slender man who had been standing beside the clerk came forward.
Mr. Tolman sensed the situation in a second.
"You mean somebody thinks my son took the pocketbook?" asked he indignantly, as he confronted the clerk and his companion.
"It is not my affair, sir, and I am sorry it should happen in our hotel," apologized the clerk. "Perhaps if you will just explain the whole matter tothis gentleman—" he broke off, saying in an undertone to the man at his elbow. "This is your boy, Donovan."
The tall man came nearer.
"You are a detective?" asked Mr. Tolman bluntly.
"Well, something of the sort, sir," admitted the man called Donovan. "It is occasionally my business to hunt people up."
"And you have been sent to hunt my son up?"
Donovan nodded.
Stephen turned white and his father put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"My son and I," he replied, addressing the detective quietly, "can explain this entire affair to you and will do so gladly. The boy did find the pocketbook but he was ignorant of its value because he has not even looked inside it. In fact, that he had the article in his possession did not come into his mind until a few moments ago. If he had known the thing was valuable, do you suppose he would have left it in his ulster pocket and checked the coat in a public place like this?"
The detective made no reply.
"We both shall be very glad," went on Mr. Tolman firmly, "to go with you to headquarters and straighten the matter out."
"There may be no need of that, sir," Donovan responded with a pleasant smile. "If we can just talk the affair over in a satisfactory way—"
"Suppose you come upstairs to our room," suggestedMr. Tolman. "That will give us more quiet and privacy. Will that be agreeable to you?"
"Perfectly."
As the three walked toward the elevator Steve glanced with trepidation at the plain-clothes man.
The boy knew he had done nothing wrong; but would he be able to convince the detective of the truth of his story? He was thoroughly frightened and wondered whether his father was also alarmed.
If, however, Mr. Tolman was worried he at least did not show it. Instead he courteously led the way from the elevator down the dim corridor and unlocked the door of Number 379.
"Come in, Mr. Donovan," he said cordially. "Here is a chair and a cigar. Now, son, tell us the story of this troublesome pocketbook from beginning to end."
In a trembling voice Stephen began his tale. He spoke slowly, uncertainly, for he was well scared. Gradually, however, he forgot his agitation and his voice became more positive. He recounted the details of the omnibus ride with great care, adding ingenuously when he came to the termination of the narrative:
"And I hoped the man's name would be inside the pocketbook because I liked him very much and wanted to return to him what he had lost."
"And wasn't it?" put in Mr. Donovan quickly.
"I don't know," was the innocent retort. "Don't you remember I told you that I hadn't looked inside yet?"
The detective laughed with satisfaction.
"That was a shabby trick of mine, youngster," said he. "It was mean to try to trap you."
"Trap me?" repeated Steve vaguely.
"There, there, sonny!" went on Donovan kindly. "Don't you worry a minute more about this mix-up. Mr. Ackerman, the gentleman who lost the bill book, did not think for a second that you had taken it. He simply was so sure that he had lost it on the bus that he wanted to locate you and find out whether you knew anything about it or not. His name was not inside the pocketbook, you see, and therefore any one who found it would have no way of tracing its owner. What it contains are valuable papers and a big wad of Liberty Bonds which, as your father knows, could quickly be converted into cash. In consequence Mr. Ackerman decided that the sooner the pocketbook was found the better. The omnibus people denied any knowledge of it and you were the only remaining clue."
Mr. Tolman sank back in his chair and a relaxation of his muscles betrayed for the first time that he had been much more disturbed than he had appeared to be.
"Well," he said, lighting a fresh cigar, "the bill book is not only located but we can hand it back intact to its owner. If you can inform us where the gentleman lives, my boy and I will call a taxi and go to his house or office with his property."
A flush of embarrassment suffused the face of the officer.
"Maybe you would like to come with us, Donovan," added Mr. Tolman, who instantly interpreted the man's confusion.
"I hate to be dogging your footsteps, sir, in this fashion," Mr. Donovan answered, with obvious sincerity. "Still, I—"
"You have your orders, no doubt."
"Well, yes, sir," admitted the plain-clothes man with reluctance. "I have."
"You were to keep your eye on us until the pocketbook reached its owner."
"That's about it, sir. Not that I personally have the least suspicion that a gentleman like you would—"
"That is all right, my man. I perfectly understand your position," Mr. Tolman cut in. "After all, you have your duty to do and business is business. We'll just telephone Mr. Ackerman that we are coming so that we shall be sure of catching him, and then we will go right up there."
"Very well, sir."
Stephen's father started toward the telephone and then, as if struck by a sudden thought, paused and turned.
"Steve," he said, "I believe you are the person to communicate with Mr. Ackerman. Call him up and tell him you have found his purse and that you and your father would like to come up to his house, if it will be convenient, and return it."
"All right, Dad."
"You will find his number on this slip of paper,sonny," the detective added, handing the lad a card. "He is not at his office. He went home to lunch in the hope that he had left the pocketbook there."
After some delay Stephen succeeded in getting the number written on the card. A servant answered the summons.
"May I speak to Mr. Ackerman, please?" inquired the lad. "He is at luncheon? No, it would not do the least good for me to tell you my name for he would not know who it was. Just tell him that the boy who sat beside him this morning on the Fifth Avenue bus—" there was a little chuckle. "Oh, he will be here directly, will he? I thought perhaps he would."
A moment later a cheery voice which Steve at once recognized to be that of the steamboat man came over the wire:
"Well, sonny?"
"I found your bill book, Mr. Ackerman, and my father and I would like to bring it up to you."
"Well, well! that is fine news!" cried the man at the other end of the line. "How did you know who it belonged to?"
"Oh, I—we—found out—my father and I," stammered the lad. "May we come up to your house with it now?"
"You would much better let me come to you; then only one person will be inconvenienced," the New Yorker returned pleasantly. "Where are you staying?"
"At the Manhattan."
"You must not think of taking the trouble of coming way up here. Let me join you and your father at your hotel."
"Very well, Mr. Ackerman. If you'd rather—"
"I certainly should rather!" was the emphatic answer. "I could not think of bringing two people so far out of their way."
"There are three of us!" squeaked Stephen.
"Three?"
"Yes, sir. We have another person—a friend—with us," explained the boy, with quiet enjoyment. How easy it was to laugh now!
"All the more reason why I should come to you, then," asserted Mr. Ackerman. "I will be at the Manhattan within half an hour. Perhaps if you and your father and your friend have the afternoon free you would like to go to some sort of a show with me after we conclude our business. Since you are here on a holiday you can't be very busy."
Stephen's eyes sparkled with merriment.
"I don't know whether our friend can go or not," he replied politely, "but I think perhaps Dad and I could; and if we can we should like to very much."
"That will be excellent. I will come right along. Not only shall I be glad to get my pocketbook back again but I shall be glad to see you once more. I told you this morning that I had a feeling we should meet some time. Whom shall I ask for at the hotel?"
"Stephen Tolman."
With a click the boy hung up the receiver.
"Mr. Ackerman is coming right down," said he, addressing his father and the detective with a mischievous smile. "He has invited the three of us to go to the matinee with him."
"The three of us!" echoed the plain-clothes man.
"Yes," returned the lad. "I told him we had a friend with us and so he said to bring him along."
"Good heavens!" Donovan ejaculated.
Mr. Tolman laughed heartily.
"Not all the thieves you arrest take you to a theater party afterward, do they, Officer?" he asked.
"I said from the first you were gentlemen," Mr. Donovan asserted with humor.
"But couldn't you go?" inquired Steve, quite seriously.
"Bless you, no, sonny!" replied the man. "I am from headquarters, you know, and my work is chasing up crooks—not going to matinees."
Nevertheless there was an intonation of gentleness in his voice, as he added, "I am obliged to you just the same, for in spite of my calling I am a human being and I appreciate being treated like one."
CHAPTER IXAN 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 oflocating 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 shouldall 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 hotunder the collar, Mr. Tolman. Nobody is slammingyou. 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—perhapsmore 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 notgo 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'sconfidence. "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 hedid 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 naïve 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 LibertyBonds 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 agein 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 elaboratelyto 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 evidentgratification. "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.