CHAPTER XXII.
THE THEFT OF THE PAPER.
Had Maurice Walton been a youth of strict honor, he could not have beeninduced to undertake the theft of the paper, however large the sumoffered him. But his principles were not strict enough to interfere,and the hope of injuring Gilbert, whom he envied, and therefore hated,made him the more willing to engage in the enterprise.
"A hundred dollars will be very acceptable," he said to himself,complacently. "They couldn't be more easily earned. Now, how shall Iset about it?"
Maurice came to the conclusion that Gilbert kept the paper in histrunk. This seemed to be the most natural depository to be selected. Ofcourse, then, he must contrive some means of opening the trunk. Hethought of pretending that he had lost the key of his own trunk, andasking Gilbert for the loan of his. But that would draw suspicion uponhim when the paper was missed. Another plan, which he finally adopted,was to go to a locksmith, and ask for a variety of trunk keys, on thesame pretext, in order to try, with the liberty of returning those thatdidn't suit. This, and other points necessary to success in his scheme,were determined upon by Maurice, and will be made known to the readeras he proceeds.
A little before ten the next morning, Maurice left his place in thestore, and, going to Mr. Ferguson, asked permission to go home.
"For what reason?" asked his employer.
"I have a terrible headache," said Maurice, looking as miserable aspossible.
"Certainly you may go," said Mr. Ferguson, who was a kind-hearted man,and who didn't doubt the statement.
"If I feel better I will come back in the afternoon," said Maurice.
"Don't come unless you feel able. I know what the headache is, and Idon't want you to come, unless you feel quite able to attend tobusiness."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now for business," said Maurice, as he found himself in the street."I'll rest my poor head by a ride on the horse-cars."
First, however, he entered a small shop near by, over which was a sign,M. FRINK, Locksmith.
The locksmith, wearing a dirty apron, looked up from his work.
"I have lost the key to my trunk," said Maurice.
"I can make you another," said the locksmith.
"I want to open it now. Haven't you got some already made?"
"Plenty. But how will you know the size?"
"Give me half a dozen to try, and I will bring back those that don'tsuit."
"All right. Is your lock a large one?"
"Not very. About medium," said Maurice, hazarding a guess.
The locksmith picked out eight keys, of various sizes, and handed themto Maurice.
"I will bring them back safe," said he.
"All right. I don't think you'll run off with them."
"Now for it," said Maurice. "I think one of these keys must fit."
He took the cars to a point only two squares distant from Gilbert'sboarding-house, and walked toward it. But, in order to change hisappearance, he applied to his upper lip a false black mustache, whichhe had bought for the purpose, and, a little discomposed by hisdishonest intentions, walked up the steps and rang the bell. It wasopened directly by a servant.
"I am a friend of Mr. Grey's," said Maurice, putting on a bold face."He told me I might get his opera-glass."
This he said in an easy, confident manner, which imposed upon the girl.
"Do you know his room?" she asked.
"Yes, I know it," said Maurice. "Never mind about going up."
The servant went back to her work, and Maurice, his heart beating fast,went up stairs on his dishonest errand. He had no difficulty in gettinginto the room, for the door was not locked. The trunks were kept in thebed-chamber, and he therefore went thither at once. One of the trunkswas a handsome one, made of sole-leather. This belonged to Mordaunt.The other was plainer and smaller, and no doubt belonged to Gilbert.
Maurice got down on his knees and began to try his keys. The first didnot fit, neither did the second, nor the third. Indeed, it was only thelast that proved to be the right one. Maurice had feared the failure ofhis plans, when success came.
"So far, so good," he said, and began eagerly to explore the contents.
First in order came a pile of shirts and underclothing. These hehastily removed, and peered about for papers. In one corner was a bookof deposits on a city savings-bank. Led by curiosity, Maurice openedit. He saw a long line of deposits, covering several pages, for Gilberthad been in the habit of making a weekly deposit, even the first year,for, though his income was small, he had nothing to pay for board, andthis was, of course, a great help.
"How much has the fellow got?" thought Maurice.
He made a hurried calculation, and, to his astonishment and envy,learned that our hero had seven hundred and sixty dollars deposited tohis credit.
"Almost eight hundred dollars, and I haven't a cent," he muttered,discontentedly. Then there came the thought that if he found the paper,he might count upon a hundred dollars, and his good spirits returned.Underneath the bank-book were two letters, written to him by Mordauntwhile absent on a pleasure-trip not long before, and under these was asheet of quarto paper, which appeared to be written upon.
"That may be the paper," thought Maurice, and he took it in his handswith eager anticipations. Turning to the end he read the signature,"Jacob Morton." A slight examination of the contents satisfied him thatit was the paper he wanted.
"Success! success!" he ejaculated, exultingly. "My hundred dollars aresafe. Now, Gilbert Grey, your hopes are dashed to the earth, and youwon't know who has done it for you."
There was no need of waiting longer. He put back the contents of thetrunk hastily, with the exception of the paper, which he folded, andput carefully in his breast-pocket. Then locking the trunk, he wentdown stairs, and let himself out by the front door, without meeting anyone.
"I didn't think I'd succeed so easily," he thought. "Now I'll go roundto the Burnet House and get my hundred dollars. It pays to have aheadache, sometimes."
Arrived at the Burnet House he found that Mr. Grey was out, and decidedto wait for him. He remained in the reading-room, reading the papers,impatient for the return of his employer. As he sat there, Mr. Grey,who had been told at the desk that some one was waiting to see him,entered.
"Ah! my young friend," he said, affably, "well, have you any news forme?"
"Yes," said Maurice.
"What is it?"
"Hadn't we better go up stairs?"
"It may be better. But, in one word, is it success or failure?"
"Success," said Maurice.
"Good!" exclaimed James Grey, his eyes lighting up with joy. "Come up."
Again they found themselves in the same room in which Gilbert and hisuncle had formerly had their interview.
"The paper," said Mr. Grey, impatiently.
"You'll pay me the money?" said Maurice, cautiously.
"If the paper is correct, you may be assured of that."
Upon this assurance Maurice withdrew the paper from his pocket, andpassed it over to his companion. The latter opened it, and glanced overit triumphantly.
"Is it right?"
"Yes, it is right. It is the forged paper. We have put a spoke in thewheel of that impudent young impostor. He can do nothing now. But youwant your money, and you shall have it."
Mr. Grey took out his pocket-book and counted out five twenty-dollarbills, which he put in the hands of his agent.
"Now confess," he said, "you never earned money more easily."
"No," said Maurice; "but I wouldn't like to go through it again.Suppose Grey had come in while I was at his trunk?"
"Tell me how you managed it--I am curious to know."
So Maurice told the story, which amused his auditor not a little,especially when he tried on the mustache in his presence.
"You are a regular conspirator," he said, smiling. "You absolutely havea genius for intrigue."
Maurice felt complimented by this remark, and the fact that he was thepos
sessor of over a hundred dollars, put him in very good spirits.
"When do you think Gilbert will find out his loss?" he asked.
"Very likely not till he calls on me. He will wonder how he met withthe loss."
"I must be going, Mr. Grey," said Maurice. "It is about time forlunch."
"I would invite you to lunch with me, but it might lead to suspicions."
"Thank you all the same."
"Now the boy may do his worst," said James Grey, exultingly. "He haslost his proof, and has nothing but his own assertion to fall backupon. _I am out of danger._"