“That is true.”
“And, of course, nothing is more natural than that he should take the money.”
“But the drawer was locked.”
“He had some keys in his pocket, very likely. Most boys have keys.”
“Oh, most boys have keys. Have you, perhaps, keys, Master Harold?”
“It seems to me you are asking very foolish questions, Felicie. I have the key of my trunk.”
“But do newsboys have trunks? Why should this boy, Luke, have keys? I do not see.”
“Well, I’ll go upstairs,” said Harold, who was getting tired of the interview, and rather uneasy at Felicie’s remarks and questions.
As Felicie had said, Mrs. Merton discovered her loss almost as soon as she came home. She had used but a small part of the money he took with her, and, not caring to carry it about with her, opened the drawer to replace it in the pocketbook.
To her surprise the pocketbook had disappeared.
Now, the contents of the pocketbook, though a very respectable sum, were not sufficient to put Mrs. Merton to any inconvenience. Still, no one likes to lose money, especially if there is reason to believe that it has been stolen, and Mrs. Merton felt annoyed. She drew out the drawer to its full extent, and examined it carefully in every part, but there was no trace of the morocco pocketbook.
She locked the door and went downstairs to her niece.
“What’s the matter, Aunt Eliza?” asked Mrs. Tracy, seeing, at a glance, from her aunt’s expression, that some thing had happened.
“There is a thief in the house!” said the old lady, abruptly.
“What!”
“There is a thief in the house!”
“What makes you think so?”
“You remember my small work table?”
“Yes.”
“I have been in the habit of keeping a supply of money in a pocketbook in one of the drawers. I just opened the drawer, and the money is gone!”
“Was there much money in the pocketbook?”
“I happen to know just how much. There were sixty-five dollars.”
“And you can find nothing of the pocketbook?”
“No; that and the money are both gone.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Aunt Eliza.”
“I don’t care for the money. I shall not miss it. I am amply provided with funds, thanks to Providence. But it is the mystery that puzzles me. Who can have robbed me?”
Mrs. Tracy nodded her head significantly.
“I don’t think there need be any mystery about that,” she said, pointedly.
“Why not?”
“I can guess who robbed you.”
“Then I should be glad to have you enlighten me, for I am quite at a loss to fix upon the thief.”
“It’s that boy of yours, I haven’t a doubt of it.”
“You mean Luke Walton?”
“Yes, the newsboy, whom you have so imprudently trusted.”