"There's something wrong about that fellow," said Tom Norcross to himself, as he looked after Congreve, while the latter was crossing the street. "I don't believe he came by those bonds honestly. His manner was certainly very suspicious."

Congreve entered another banking house, and here he had no difficulty in disposing of his bonds. He came out with two hundred and thirty dollars in his pocket, and feeling less irritable than before.

"So that's done," he said to himself, "and I am well provided with money for the present. Now I must make up for lost time, and try to enjoy myself a little. I was nearly moped to death in that dull country village, with no better company than a young sn.o.b. Now to see life!"

First of all, Congreve installed himself at a fashionable boarding house uptown. Then he purchased a seat for the evening's performance at Wallack's Theater, and then sought out some of his old companions in haunts where he knew they were likely to be found. He had a few games of cards, in which his luck varied. He rose from the card table a loser in the sum of twenty-five dollars.

"That is unlucky," thought Congreve. "However, I've got two hundred dollars left. I must be more cautious, or my money won't last long."

Still, he felt in tolerably good spirits when he went to the theater, and enjoyed the performance about as much as if his pleasures were bought with money honestly earned.

It so happened that the clerk at the first banking house who had refused to purchase the bonds sat two rows behind him, and easily recognized his customer of the morning.

"I suspect Mr. Baker, alias Congreve, has disposed of his bonds," he thought to himself. "I am really curious to know whether he had any right to sell them."

From time to time this thought came back to the clerk, till he formed a resolution quietly to follow Congreve, after the close of the performance, and ascertain where he lived.

Congreve, seated in front, was not aware of the presence of the clerk, or he might have taken measures to defeat his design.

When James Congreve left the theater, he was at first inclined to stop at Delmonico's on the way uptown, and indulge in a little refreshment; but he felt somewhat fatigued with his day's travel, and, after a moment's indecision, concluded instead to return at once to his boarding place.

"He lives in a nice house," said the clerk to himself. "Let me notice the number. I may find it desirable to know where to find him."

To antic.i.p.ate matters a little, word came to New York in the afternoon of the next day that two bonds, the numbers of which were given, had been stolen from Colonel Ross, and search was made for the young man who was suspected of having negotiated them. The clerk, who, previous to returning the bonds to Congreve, had taken down the numbers, at once identified them as the ones referred to, and gave information to the police.

The result was that just as Congreve was sitting down to supper on the evening of the second day, he was informed that a man wished to see him at the door. On answering the call, he saw before him a small man, of quiet manner, dressed in a sober suit of black.

"You name is Congreve, I believe?" he said, politely,

"Yes, sir," answered James, in a hesitating tone.

"Then I must trouble you to go with me."

"I have just sat down to supper."

"I am really sorry to disturb you, but you are charged with selling two stolen bonds in Wall Street yesterday."

"There is some mistake," said Congreve, hurriedly. "Colonel Ross sent me the bonds by his son, with a request that I would sell them for him."

"Glad to hear it," said the detective, laconically. "Then you will be able to clear yourself. Meanwhile, you must come with me."

And James Congreve spent the night in a boarding house by no means fashionable.

CHAPTER XL

PREPARING TO PROSECUTE

"I am going to the bottom of this affair," said Colonel Ross, as he sipped his second cup of coffee at the breakfast table the next morning.

"The Gilbert boy must suffer the consequences of his crime."

"Will he be sent to prison, pa?" inquired Philip.

"It is a State's prison offense, my son," answered his father.

Was it on Harry's account that Philip suddenly turned pale and looked nervous? I cannot credit him with a sufficient amount of feeling for another. He could not help recalling the fact that it was he and not Harry who had been guilty of this State's prison offense.

"However, the thing can't possibly be traced to me," he reflected, somewhat more comfortable in mind. "I don't know as I care whether Harry Gilbert goes to prison or not. He is very proud and stuck-up, and it will take down his pride."

"I commend your decision," said Mrs. Ross, to her husband. "In my opinion, mercy would be misplaced in such a case as this. The boy who is degraded enough to steal is likely to continue in his criminal course, and the sooner he is punished the better."

There was something in this remark, also, that made Philip wince.

"Where will Harry Gilbert be tried?" asked Philip.

"Before Squire Davis. I directed the constable to carry him round there at nine o'clock this morning."

"May I go, too?"

"Yes; your testimony will be needed to show that the boy was prowling around our house on the evening in question."

"Very well," answered Philip, with satisfaction. "I'll go along with you."

"Do so, my son."

As it was not yet time to go to the office of the justice, Philip stepped out into the yard, where Tom Calder, the stable boy, was washing a carriage.

"I guess I'll tell him the news," thought Philip. "Tom," he said, "we've discovered who stole the bonds the other night."

"Have you?" asked Tom, with a queer smile.

"Yes. Would you like to know who it is?"

"Uncommon."

"It's Harry Gilbert."

Tom Calder pursed up his lips in genuine amazement, and emitted a shrill whistle.

"You don't say!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Philip, complacently. "The governor had the house searched--Widow Gilbert's, of course--and he found the bonds there."

"That beats all I ever heard!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom.

"Oh, it doesn't surprise me at all!" said Philip, carelessly. "I've long suspected Harry Gilbert of being dishonest."