Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret

What was his surprise, then, when Percy came up with a pleasant smile, and said, "Good-morning, Bert."

Bert looked at him sharply, to see if there was anything triumphant in his smile, but Percy's manner was cordial and friendly.

"Have you heard of my trouble, Percy?" asked Bert abruptly.

"Yes, Bert, and I am very sorry for it."

"Do you believe me guilty?"

"No, I don't," returned Percy, and he offered his hand.

"Thank you, Percy," said Bert, moved in spite of himself. "I misjudged you. If you don't believe me guilty, I hope others won't. Are you going to the trial?"

"I wasn't thinking of doing so, but I will walk with you as far as the town hall."

There was quite a crowd gathered near the entrance to the building, for it was generally known that Bert was to be tried for the theft that morning. Some of those composing it—in fact most—were Bert's friends; but there were a few who delighted in scandal and looked forward with eagerness to hearing the details, and did not care much how Bert might be affected by it.

The surprise was general when Bert approached, apparently in friendly converse with Percy Marlowe, a boy whose want of cordial feeling toward him was generally known. The occasion was a trial for Bert, but Percy's unexpected friendliness sustained him, though he had not got over his surprise at it.

All parties entered the court-room, and presently Squire Marlowe himself appeared. He walked with dignity to the platform, and took his seat behind the desk over which justice was dispensed.

"Who is the complainant in this case?" he asked.

"I am, squire," said Mr. Jones, advancing eagerly.

"State your case."

"I charge this boy—Bert Barton—with stealing a twenty-dollar bill from my desk last evening."

"Have you counsel?"

"No, squire. The case is plain, and I can manage it myself."

"I represent the defendant," said the young lawyer Conway.

"You are a lawyer, are you?" asked Squire Marlowe, frowning.

"Yes, sir."

"Have you any evidence or certificate to show this?"

"I can prove it, if necessary; but I will venture to suggest that your doubts on the subject are very singular, and that, lawyer or no lawyer, I am at liberty to appear for the defendant if he desires it."

Squire Marlowe coughed and looked displeased at this remark.

"State your case, Mr. Jones," he said, after the latter had been sworn.

The grocer told the story as it happened, making it bear as heavily against Bert as possible.

"Do you wish to ask the witness any questions, Mr. Conway," inquired the judge.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Jones, what makes you think my client took your twenty-dollar bill?"

"It stands to reason—" commenced the grocer.

"Never mind about that! Please stick to facts."

"Well, the bill disappeared."

"Admitted. Go on."

"The Barton boy was standing near the desk."

"Did you see him take it?"

"No; how could I? My back was turned."

"This is important. Then, so far as your knowledge goes, any other person may have taken the bill."

"Didn't I tell you that the boy was brazen enough to offer me the same bill in payment for some kerosene which I got for him?"

"You are very sure it was the same bill, are you, Mr. Jones?" asked Conway carelessly.

"Why, of course it was."

"That won't do! How can you prove it was?"

"Because," said the grocer triumphantly, "the bill I lost was a twenty-dollar bill, and the bill the boy offered me was a twenty-dollar bill," and Mr. Jones looked around the court-room with a complacent and triumphant smile. Squire Marlowe, judge though he was, gave a little nod, as if to show that he, too, thought the argument was unanswerable. Even Bert's friends in the court-room glanced at each other gravely. It certainly looked bad for our hero.

CHAPTER XV.

BERT'S TRIUMPHANT VINDICATION

"You have not answered my question, Mr. Jones," persisted the young lawyer.

"I rather think I have," said the grocer, looking around him triumphantly.

"But not satisfactorily. I ask you again, how do you know that the twenty-dollar bill tendered you by my client was the same bill which you left on the desk?"

"It stands to reason–"

"Stop there! That is no answer."

"It seems to me you're mighty particular," retorted the grocer sharply.

"My young client's interests require it. Now for your answer."

"Well, there wasn't any other twenty-dollar bill around."

"How do you know! Young Barton says he brought the bill from home."

"He says so!" repeated Mr. Jones, with a suggestive sneer.

"Upon that point I propose to call a witness who will corroborate his statement. Mrs. Barton!"

The widow Barton came forward, pale and anxious, and was sworn. She was regarded with sympathy by all present except the grocer and the acting judge. After one or two unimportant questions, Mr. Conway asked: "When your son went to the grocery store, did he take any money with him?"

"Yes, sir."

"How much?"

"Twenty dollars."

"Was it in the form of one bill, or several?"

"It was a single twenty-dollar bill."

Mr. Jones, who had now taken his seat, looked insultingly incredulous.

"Can I ask a question?" he said, turning to Squire Marlowe.

"You can."

"I should like to ask Mrs. Barton where the prisoner obtained the twenty-dollar bill?" And the grocer looked around the court-room again, triumphantly.

"It came from my uncle, Jacob Marlowe," answered Mrs. Barton.

"Ah, that's it! Is Mr. Jacob Marlowe in town?"

"No, sir."

"When was he in town?"

"Three or four weeks since."

"When did he give you the money?"

"He left a sealed envelope containing it, which we were not to open unless in case of need."

"When did you first open it?"

"Last evening."

"Can you produce the envelope?" asked Jones, with an ironical smile.

"Here it is."

The envelope was taken and examined by the grocer.

"There is nothing to show that this could not have been prepared by the defendant, without the knowledge of this convenient uncle," he said.

"There was a note accompanying it," Mrs. Barton added.

"Let me see it."

"I will read it," said Mr. Conway, taking it in his hand.

This note has already been quoted in Chapter XI.

Mr. Jones looked somewhat nonplussed.

"I am free to confess," he said, after a pause, "that I doubt the genuineness of this note. Nothing could be easier than to prepare it."

"I appeal to the court to protect the witness from insult," interposed Mr. Conway.

"I do not consider that she has been insulted," said Squire Marlowe coldly. "The credibility of testimony is always a matter to be considered."

Mr. Jones eyed the young lawyer with a triumphant smile.

"Have you any further questions to put, Mr. Jones?" added Conway.

"No, sir, I am satisfied."

"Then the witness may step down. I call upon Mr. Jones to take the witness stand again."

"I have no objection, I am sure!" said the grocer jauntily. He saw that the judge was with him, and he confidently anticipated Bert's conviction.

"From whom did you obtain the twenty-dollar bill which you charge my client with taking?" asked Mr. Conway.

"From Mr. Holbrook, the landlord of the hotel."

"You are sure of this?" demanded Conway sternly.

"Of course I am."

"And you will swear that this is the case?"

"Certainly!" answered Mr. Jones aggressively, thinking it very important that he should substantiate this fact.

"That will do, Mr. Jones."

The grocer took his seat, feeling that he had scored a victory and foiled the lawyer. It was not long before he had occasion to change his opinion.

"Mr. Holbrook," called Conway.

The landlord of the Lakeville Hotel took the stand. He was a pleasant-looking, good-hearted man, and he glanced sympathetically at Bert and his mother.

"Mr. Holbrook," said Conway, "do you remember paying Mr. Jones, the complainant, a twenty-dollar bill?"

"Yes, sir."

The grocer smiled again. Everything seemed to favor his side of the case.

"For what was the payment made?"

"For groceries furnished by Mr. Jones."

"Would you recognize the bill you paid if you should see it again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is this the bill?" asked the lawyer, exhibiting the note taken from the grocer, and now in the custody of the court.

Mr. Holbrook took the bill in his hand, and, turning it over, looked at the reverse side. All eyes were upon him, and there was a hush of expectation, for it was felt that the whole case hinged upon the answer to this question.

"This is not the same bill," answered the landlord composedly.

Bert's friends looked joyful, and Mr. Jones looked dismayed.

"He is mistaken!" ejaculated the grocer, much perturbed.

"Of course," continued the young lawyer, "you have some means of identification. Please state to the court how you know that this is not the same bill."

"The bill which I paid to Mr. Jones," answered the landlord, "had the letters I. W. written in red ink on the back. This note has no such mark."

Conway looked triumphant. It was his turn now. He took the bank-note, and holding it up in sight of all, called the attention of the court and those present to the fact attested by the witness.

"It is clear," he said, "that nothing was ever written on the back of this note in red ink."

"It might have been effaced," suggested the grocer querulously.

"The bill, since it was taken from the complainant, has been in charge of the court," said Conway. "I hardly think the complainant will dare to assert that it has been tampered with. And now, your honor," turning to the presiding judge, "I submit that the charge has been completely answered. We have shown that the bill tendered by my client was not the bill lost by Mr. Jones. I claim his discharge."

Squire Marlowe hesitated, but he could think of no pretext for holding Bert, since the case against him had so signally failed.

"The prisoner is discharged!" he said briefly, and rose from his seat.

Bert's friends surrounded him, and he began to fear that in their enthusiasm they would shake his hand off. It was almost as serious as being a Presidential candidate. It is needless to say, however, that Mr. Jones was not one of the friends who congratulated him. He, on the other hand, looked decidedly grumpy, and as if he had lost his best friend. He pushed his way through the crowd up to the young lawyer.

"This is all very fine, Mr. Lawyer," he said, "but will you tell me how I am to get my money back?"

"What money, Mr. Jones?"

"The twenty-dollar bill taken from my desk, of course."

"I wish I could, Mr. Jones, but I know no more than the man in the moon."

"Is that all the satisfaction I am going to get?" demanded Jones angrily.

"From me—yes. You will have to find the person who actually took the money."

"I don't see how I am to do it. I would have sworn that it was Bert Barton, and I am not sure now–"

"Stop there, Mr. Jones! If after my client's full vindication you insinuate any charge of dishonesty, I shall advise him to sue you for defamation of character."

The grocer looked startled, and Conway continued:

"But I will volunteer the suggestion that as you can now identify the bill, you can advertise that a note so marked has been stolen from you, and call upon any one into whose hands it may come to help you trace it back to the thief. There is a chance that you may recover it."

CHAPTER XVI.

WHAT BECAME OF THE STOLEN NOTE

Among the attentive listeners at Bert's trial was a tall young man with light hair and pallid complexion, upon whose thin face there played a shrewd smile. He seemed unusually interested, as was indeed the case, for he strongly suspected that he knew who was the actual purloiner of the stolen twenty-dollar bill. It is hardly necessary to say that the young man was Percy's friend, Reginald Ward.

When the landlord gave his testimony, he was no longer in doubt, for he had himself noticed the letters I. W. on the back of the bank-bill.

As he left the court-room, he saw Percy lingering near the door.

"Come with me, Percy," he said, linking his arm with that of the boy. "I have something to say to you."

"I have an engagement," pleaded Percy, trying to release himself. "I will call round this afternoon."

"I can't wait till afternoon," said Reginald decidedly. "I must speak to you now on a matter of importance."

"How did the trial come out?"

"The boy was acquitted."

"I thought he would be."

"Why?" asked Reginald Ward, eyeing Percy curiously.

"Because I don't think he would steal."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"No; he is only a working boy."

"Still you think he is honest?"

"Oh, yes."

"How then do you account for the bill's being stolen?"

Percy shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't feel sure that any bill was stolen," he said. "I don't think much of old Jones. I dare say he made up the story."

"That is hardly likely. What object could he have?"

"He wanted to get hold of Bert Barton's bill. Where did Bert get it from? Did he say?"

"He said it was left in an envelope by some old uncle of his."

"Uncle Jacob?"

"Yes; I think that was the name."

"I didn't think the old man had so much money to spare."

"You seem to know him then?"

"I have heard of him."

By this time they had reached the hotel, and Reginald asked Percy to come up to his room.

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?" asked Percy, as he took a seat at the window.

"I wanted to tell you that the stolen bill came from Mr. Holbrook. Mr. Jones testified to this effect, and Mr. Holbrook also."

"Well, what of that?"

"Mr. Holbrook described the bill and stated that the letters I. W. were written in red ink on the reverse side."

Percy began to see the point, and waited anxiously for Reginald to continue.

Ward drew from his pocket the twenty-dollar bill, and held it up to open view.

"This is the bill you paid me last evening," he said. "You will observe the letters I. W. as described by the landlord. Now, where did you get this bill?" he asked searchingly.

Drops of perspiration stood on Percy's forehead, and he hesitated to reply. Finally an inspiration came to him, and he said, "I picked it up in the street, near the grocery store. The thief must have dropped it."

"You didn't tell me that when you paid it to me."

"No, I didn't think it necessary. I was anxious to get out of debt to you."

"Percy Marlowe, that statement of yours won't pass muster. Weren't you in the grocery store last evening?"

"No—yes," stammered Percy.

"And you saw this bill on Mr. Jones's desk—yes or no?"

"I don't see what right you have to question me," said Percy sullenly.

"Because you have paid me stolen money, and if I keep it I am likely to get into trouble. Indeed, I came very near it this morning. I was on the point of paying it to Mr. Holbrook for my board. You can imagine that he would have recognized it at once."

"I don't see as you are to blame."

"No, I am not; but if the bill were known to be in my possession, the only thing I could do would be to state from whom I received it."

"You wouldn't do that!" said Percy, in alarm.

"I should have to. But I don't mean to run the risk. I will give you back the bill, and you must return me the ten dollars I gave you in change."

"But what can I do with the bill?"

"That is your lookout. Of course you will still owe me ten dollars."

Reluctantly Percy drew out the ten dollars he had received in change, not having yet spent any of it, and Reginald Ward gave him back the unlucky bill. Percy thrust it quickly into his vest pocket.

"Now, Percy," said Reginald, "let me advise you as a friend to get that bill out of your possession as soon as possible. If it is traced to you, you will get into hot water."

"I can't pass it here."

"You have no right to pass it anywhere."

"You could pass it in New York."

Reginald Ward considered a moment, but shook his head. "No, it would be too dangerous," he said. "It might be traced to me, and it would be known that I have been in Lakeville. I should have to expose you to screen myself."

"Then what would you advise me to do?"

"Get it back to Mr. Jones in some way. Here, take an envelope, inclose the bill, and mark the grocer's name on it. Then drop it somewhere, and the thing will be done; Jones will be happy and you will be safe."

"All right!"

Percy followed Reginald's advice, and then put the letter in his pocket.

"When are you going back to New York?" he asked.

"To-morrow. I will leave you my address, and hope you will have the honesty to pay me what you owe me as soon as possible."

"Yes, I will, but I am afraid that won't be soon."

"You ought to make an effort to pay me."

"It isn't as if I really owed it to you. It is money I have lost at cards."

"If you are a boy of honor," said Reginald impressively, "you will feel that such debts ought to be paid above all others."

"Why should they?" asked Percy, and there will be many others who will be disposed to echo the question. "Why should gambling debts take precedence of honest obligations?" It is not necessary to repeat Reginald's explanation, as it was shallow and sophistical.

Two hours later Sam Doyle, a young Irish boy, espied, under a bush by the roadside, what seemed to be a letter. He picked it up, and, though his education was by no means extensive, he made out the name of Mr. Jones.

"Shure Mr. Jones must have dropped it out of his pocket," he said. "I'll carry it to him."

He entered the store, and attracted the attention of the grocer, who was behind the counter, and in a bad humor, smarting still from his loss of twenty dollars.

"Clear out, you Sam Doyle!" he said, "unless you want to buy something. I don't want any boys loafing round my store."

"Is this your envelope, Mr. Jones?" asked Sam, producing the envelope.

"Give it to me."

Mr. Jones read his name on the envelope in some wonder and tore it open. What was his amazement and delight when he saw the lost bill!

"Where did you get this, Sam?" he asked.

"I found it under a bush by the side of the road, near the blacksmith's shop."

"When?"

"Shure it wasn't more'n five minutes."

"Do you know what was in the envelope?"

"No."

"You are sure no one gave you the letter to hand to me?" said the grocer, with a searching glance.

"Shure, I found it."

"Well, I'm glad to get it. You are a good boy to bring it to me. Here's ten cents."

Sam took the money, as much surprised as pleased, for the grocer was considered, and justly, a very mean man.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," he said.

"You are sure that Bert Barton didn't give you the letter?"

"Yes, sir. I haven't seen Bert since mornin'."

"Did you see any other boy near?"

"Yes, sir, I saw Percy Marlowe."

"Did he speak to you?"

"Yes, sir; he asked me what I'd got in my hand."

"What did you say?"

"I showed him the letter."

"Did he say anything to you then?"

"He told me it was for you, and he said I'd better take it right over to your store."

"He gave you good advice. Wait a minute, and I'll do up a pound of sugar and send it to your mother as a present."

"What's come to the old man?" thought Sam. "Shure he's gettin' generous in his old age!"

"I wish I knew who took that bill," thought the grocer meditatively. "However I've got it back, and that's the main thing."

When Percy dropped the envelope, he remained near at hand, and seeing Sam pick it up, instructed him to carry it to the grocer. He then breathed a sigh of relief, and felt that he was lucky to get out of a bad scrape so safely.

CHAPTER XVII.

AFTER THE TRIAL

"Mr. Conway," said Bert, as they walked home together from the trial, "I am very grateful to you for getting me out of my trouble. If you will let me know your fee, I will pay it."

"My dear boy," rejoined the young lawyer, "this is my vacation, and I only took up your case to keep my hand in."

"You are very kind, and I shall always remember it."

"Lawyers are not always mercenary, though they have that reputation with some. I should like, by the way, to find out who did steal the bill."

"So should I. I have no idea for my part."

"If you ever find out, let me know. I go back to New York to-morrow, and am glad to leave the memory of a professional triumph behind me."

"What is your address, Mr. Conway?"

"No. 111 Nassau Street, Room 15. Here is my card. When you come to New York, call and see me."

"I shall do so, though it may be some time in the future. Do you think I could get anything to do in New York?"

"Yes; but perhaps not enough to pay your expenses."

"I find the same trouble here."

"You have been at work in the shoe factory, I believe."

"Yes; but I have been discharged. My place has been taken by a machine."

"That is unfortunate. Is there no other opening in Lakeville?"

"I have not found any yet."

"I will keep your case in mind, and if I hear of anything I will let you know."

When Squire Marlowe returned home from the trial, his wife inquired with interest, "How did the case come out?"

"The boy was acquitted," answered her husband shortly.

"Acquitted! Why, you thought it was a close case."

"So I did, but it came out on the trial that there were two twenty-dollar bills, and the one which the Barton boy presented was left for him by Uncle Jacob."

"By that old man? Why, I thought he was poor."

"So he is—worth only five hundred dollars, and he is making ducks and drakes of that as fast as he can."

"And then he will fall back on you?"

"I suppose so."

"Then I hope you will let him go to the poor house," said Mrs. Marlowe with energy.

"I shall. I have no pity for a man who throws away his money."

Percy came home to dinner in lively spirits. He was free from anxiety, and felt that he had been remarkably fortunate.

"Were you at the trial, Percy?" asked his mother.

"No, ma."

"I thought you would be interested in seeing that boy on trial."

"I was sorry for him, and didn't want to be present."

"Sorry for him?"

"Yes; I felt sure he had not taken the money."

"Seems to me this is a new streak, Percy," said the squire. "I thought you didn't like Bert Barton."

"I am not intimate with him, for he is only a working boy; but all the same I don't want him convicted when he is innocent."

"It is a mystery to me who could have taken the other twenty-dollar bill," said the squire. "Can you think of anybody?"

"No; how should I?" returned Percy, nearly swallowing a spoonful of soup the wrong way.

"There are so few people in the village, that it must be some one we know."

"Perhaps old Jones didn't lose any money, after all."

"There is no doubt on that point. The stolen bill has been returned to him in an envelope by Sam Doyle."

"Is that so?" exclaimed Percy, counterfeiting surprise. "Why, it must be the same envelope Sam showed me."

"He showed you the envelope?"

"Yes; he picked it up by the roadside. It was directed in pencil to Mr. Jones. So that contained the stolen bill?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps it was taken in joke."

"A poor joke! No; the thief got alarmed, and took that way of returning it. I suggested to Jones that the handwriting on the envelope might furnish a clew to the thief."

"What did he say?" asked Percy, alarmed.

"He said he should do nothing about it, now that he had the money back."

"I guess he's right," said Percy, relieved.

In the afternoon Bert met Percy in the street. He advanced cordially.

"Well, Percy, I got free, after all."

"Yes, I am glad of it."

"I feel grateful to you for believing in my innocence."

"It's all right," said Percy, in a patronizing tone. "Even if you are a working boy, I was sure you wouldn't steal."

Bert's feelings cooled a little. Somehow Percy's manner kept him aloof.

"Yes, I am a working boy," he replied, "or at any rate I would like to be, but I don't find it easy to get work."