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Luke Walton, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 33. Harold's Plot Fails |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. HAROLD'S PLOT FAILS Luke wore a sack coat with side pockets. It was this circumstance that had made it easy for Harold to transfer the wallet unsuspected to his pocket. Quite ignorant of what had taken place, Luke kept on his way to Mrs. Merton's house. He rang the bell, and on being admitted, went up, as usual, to the room of his patroness. "Good morning, Luke," said Mrs. Merton, pleasantly. "Good-morning," responded Luke. "I don't think I shall go out this morning, and I don't think of any commission, so you will have a vacation." "I am afraid I am not earning my money, Mrs. Merton. You make it very easy for me." "At any rate, Luke, the money is cheerfully given, and I have no doubt you find it useful. How are you getting along?" "Very well, indeed! I have just made the last payment on mother's machine, and now we owe nothing, except, perhaps, for the rent, and only a week has gone by on the new month." "You seem to be a good manager, Luke. You succeed in keeping your money, while I have not always found it easy. Yesterday, for instance, I lost sixty-five dollars." "How was that?" inquired Luke, with interest. "The drawer in which I keep a pocketbook was unlocked, and this, with its contents, was stolen." "Don't you suspect anyone?" "I did, but he has cleared himself, in my opinion. It is possible it was one of the servants." At this moment Luke pulled his handkerchief from his side pocket and with it came the morocco pocketbook, which fell on the carpet. Mrs. Merton uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Why, that is the very pocketbook!" she said. Luke stooped and picked it up, with an expression of bewilderment on his face. "I don't understand it," he said. "I never saw that pocketbook before in my life." "Please hand it to me." Luke did so. "Yes, that is the identical pocketbook," said the old lady. "And it came from my pocket?" Yes." "Is there any money in it, Mrs. Merton." Mrs. Merton opened it, and shook her head. That has been taken out," she answered. "I hope you won't think I took the money," said Luke, with a troubled look. "I know you did not. It was taken while we were out together yesterday. The last thing before I left the house I locked the drawer, and the pocketbook with the money inside was there. When I returned it was gone." "That is very mysterious. I don't understand how the pocketbook came in my pocket." "Someone must have put it there who wished you to be suspected of the theft." "Yes," said Luke, eagerly. "I see." Then he stopped suddenly, for what he was about to say would throw suspicion upon Harold. "Well, go on!" "I don't know that I ought to speak. It might throw suspicion on an innocent person." "Speak! It is due to me. I will judge on that point. Who has had the chance of putting the wallet into your pocket?" "I will speak if you insist upon it, Mrs. Merton," said Luke, reluctantly. "A few minutes since I met Harold on the street. We were bound in opposite directions. He surprised me by stopping me, and addressing me quite cordially. We stood talking together two or three minutes." "Did he have an opportunity of putting the wallet in your pocket?" "He might have done so, but I was not conscious of it." "Let me think!" said the old lady, slowly. "Harold knew where I kept my money, for I opened the drawer in his presence the other day, and he saw me take a bill from the pocketbook. I did not think him capable of robbing me." "Perhaps he did not," said Luke. "It may be explained in some other way." "Can you think of any other way?" asked the old lady. "Suppose a servant had taken the money, and left the pocketbook somewhere where Harold found it----" "Even in that case, why should he put it in your pocket?" "He does not like me. He might wish to throw suspicion upon me." "That would be very mean." "I think it would, but still he might not be a thief." "I would sooner excuse a thief. It is certainly disreputable to steal, but it is not necessarily mean or contemptible. Trying to throw suspicion on an innocent person would be both." Luke remained silent, for nothing occurred to him to say. He did not wish to add to Mrs. Merton's resentment against Harold. After a moment's thought the old lady continued: "Leave the pocketbook with me, and say nothing about what has happened till I give you leave." "Very well." Mrs. Merton took the pocketbook, replaced it in the drawer, and carefully locked it. "Someone must have a key that will open this drawer," she said. "I should like to know who it is." "Do you think anyone will open it again?" asked Luke. "No; it will be supposed that I will no longer keep money there. I think, however, I will sooner or later find out who opened it." "I hope it won't prove to be Harold." "I hope so, too. I would not like to think so near a relative a thief. Well, Luke, I won't detain you here any longer. You may come to-morrow, as usual." "It is lucky Mrs. Merton has confidence in me," thought Luke. "Otherwise she might have supposed me to be the thief. What a mean fellow Harold Tracy is, to try to have an innocent boy suspected of such a crime." As he was going out of the front door, Mrs. Tracy entered. She cast a withering glance at Luke. "Have you seen my aunt this morning?" she asked. "Yes, madam." "I wonder you had the face to stand in her presence." It must be said, in justification of Mrs. Tracy, that she really believed that Luke had stolen Mrs. Merton's money. "I know of no reason why I should not," said Luke, calmly. "Will you be kind enough to explain what you mean?" "You know well enough," retorted Mrs. Tracy, nodding her head venomously. "Mrs. Merton appears to be well satisfied with me," said Luke, quietly. "When she is not, she will tell me so, and I shall never come again." "You are the most brazen boy I know of. Why it is that my aunt is so infatuated with you, I can't for my part, pretend to understand." "If you will allow me, I will bid you good-morning," said Luke, with quiet dignity. Mrs. Tracy did not reply, and Luke left the house. "If I ever hated and despised a boy, it is that one!" said Mrs. Tracy to herself as she went upstairs to remove her street dress. "I wish I could strip the mask from him, and get aunt to see him in his real character. He is a sly, artful young adventurer. Ah, Felicie, come and assist me. By the way, I want you to watch that boy who has just gone out?" "Luke Walton?" "Yes; of course you have heard of my aunt's loss. I suspect that this Luke Walton is the thief." "Is it possible, madam? Have you any evidence?" "No; but we may find some. What do you think?" "I haven't thought much about the matter. It seems to me very mysterious." When Felicie left the presence of her mistress she smiled curiously. "What would Madam Tracy say if she knew it was her own son?" she soliloquized. "He is a young cur, but she thinks him an angel." _ |
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