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Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 15. Bert's Triumphant Vindication |
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_ 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." _ |
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