Alger Horatio Jr.
Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret
CHAPTER XIV.
BERT STANDS TRIAL
Percy went to bed early, and heard nothing of Bert's arrest for the theft which he had himself committed till at the breakfast table the next morning his father said: "Well, young Barton has got into a bad scrape."
"What is it, father?" asked Percy, pricking up his ears.
"He is charged with stealing a twenty-dollar bill from Mr. Jones, the store-keeper."
This was certainly amazing, and Percy, in his agitation, nearly choked with some coffee that went the wrong way.
"Be more careful, Percy!" said his mother sharply.
"I was so surprised, mother, at what father told me," apologized Percy.
"I don't know why you need be surprised," said Mrs. Marlowe. "I never had a very good opinion of the boy."
"How did it happen?" asked Percy, curious to know how suspicion could have fallen upon Bert.
"It appears that Mr. Jones laid a twenty-dollar bill on his desk—a very careless proceeding, by the way—while he was waiting upon a customer in another part of the store. About five minutes afterward the Barton boy called upon him to fill a small can with kerosene, and actually had the hardihood to offer his own twenty-dollar bill in payment."
"Bert Barton offered Mr. Jones a twenty-dollar bill?" asked Percy, in great surprise.
"Yes; no wonder you are surprised at his boldness."
"Perhaps it wasn't the same bill," Percy was constrained to suggest.
"You must be a fool, Percy. Where else could he have got so large a bill as that? We all know how poor the Bartons are. Besides, the bill on the desk had disappeared."
Percy was silent for a moment. He felt bewildered, and could not understand it at all. He knew very well that it was not the same bill. But where did the other bill come from? How happened a poor boy like Bert Barton to have such a large bill in his possession? That was certainly mysterious.
"Was—was Bert arrested?" he asked, in a hesitating tone.
"He would have been but for the interference of a meddlesome young lawyer, who, it appears, is staying at the hotel."
"Mr. Conway?"
"I believe that is his name. He offered to defend the Barton boy, and would not permit him to be arrested."
Percy was glad to hear this. He was mean and selfish, but he was not mean enough to wish Bert to suffer for a crime of which he knew him to be innocent.
"What was done, then?" he asked, after a pause.
"The boy was allowed to go home, but his trial is to take place before me this morning at ten o'clock. You can be present, if you desire."
"I—don't—know as I do," said Percy.
His father looked surprised.
"I thought you would be eager to be there," he said.
"I may come in," said Percy; "but I am sorry for Bert, and I should not like to see him under arrest."
"You are too good-hearted, Percy," said his mother. "I am sure I hope the boy did not do what is charged, though I don't think there is the slightest doubt of it; but if he is guilty I want him punished. That is the only way to protect the community from further thefts."
"What would mother say if she knew I did it?" thought Percy, shivering. "I wish I hadn't done it."
But it was too late to wish that. He had appropriated the money, and it had been paid away. Suppose Reginald Ward should betray him? Percy earnestly hoped that he would leave town before he had a chance to hear of the stolen money, for he felt certain that sharp young man would suspect him of having had something to do with it.
As the time drew near, Percy decided that he had better not attend the trial. He was afraid that some one would call to mind that he too had been standing near the desk just before the bill disappeared. He felt nervous and excited. He wished it was all over, and Bert was acquitted. Suppose he were found guilty and sentenced to imprisonment? It would be terrible, Percy admitted to himself; but what could he do? He couldn't confess, and incur the same punishment himself. The very thought made him shudder. He walked about the streets in a very uncomfortable frame of mind till about a quarter of ten. Then he suddenly encountered Bert, who, in company with his lawyer, was on his way to a room in the town hall where the trial was to take place. Bert held his head erect, but his face was flushed with shame at the unpleasant predicament in which he found himself. When he saw Percy approaching he said to himself bitterly: "There is one who will rejoice at my misfortune."
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.
