CHAPTER XX
BENTON IS TRAPPED
Judging that his employer’s suspicions were allayed, Benton ventured to take two five-dollar bills from the till before he went out in the evening. Currency was at that time mixed, and bills, as well as gold and silver, were in circulation.
He left the restaurant at the usual time. It so happened that Grant had something to do and did not go out with him. Benton, therefore, went at once to the gambling-house which he was in the habit of frequenting.
“I’m getting tired of being cooped up in the restaurant day after day,” he said impatiently. “Why can’t I make a strike? If I could scoop in four hundred dollars to-night I would leave Sacramento and go to the mines. Then I might strike it rich and carry home ten thousand dollars, as Grant’s friend did.”
Grant had told him the story of John Heywood’s good fortune, and it had impressed him.
“If a clodhopper like that can make a fortune, why shouldn’t I?” he asked himself.
So his purpose to go to the mines and try his luck was strengthened. If he had begun six months before to save money, he would have had enough to start before this, but Albert Benton was one of those who despised small and steady savings, and are always on the lookout to “make a strike,” as he termed it.
“That boy won’t spy on me to-night,” he said to himself. “I must be careful. If the old man knew where I spent my evenings he would smell a rat. I wonder how much I’ve taken from the drawer in the last three months. Fully as much as my wages, I expect. Well, he can stand it. He’s making plenty of money, anyhow.”
It was in this way that he excused his thefts. Yet he felt that he would like to leave the restaurant and put himself in the way of making that fortune for which he yearned.
Though Grant was not in the street to see where he went, there was another who quietly noticed his movements and followed his steps. This was John Vincent, the ex-detective. From the first he had suspected Benton and doubted Grant’s guilt. He was a man skilled in physiognomy, and he had studied Benton’s face and formed a pretty accurate estimation of his real character.
“If Benton hasn’t robbed my friend Smithson’s till, then I lose my guess,” he said to himself.
He did not, however, say much of his suspicions to the keeper of the restaurant, who, he saw, was disposed to consider Grant the guilty party. He waited till he had some evidence to offer in confirmation of his theory.
When Benton entered the gambling-house Vincent followed close behind him. Benton saw him, but did not know that he was a special friend of Mr. Smithson.
Vincent placed himself at a neighboring table in such a position that he could watch Benton. He saw him take out one of the bills which he had abstracted from the till, and stake it.
“What do you put down paper for?” asked a man beside him. “Gold is better.”
“Bills are just as good,” said Benton.
“I will give you gold for bills,” said Vincent. “I want to send some money to the East.”
“All right, and thank you,” said Benton. “Here are two fives.”
“And here are two gold pieces,” said Vincent.
There was a secret look of elation on his face as he received the bills, and furtively noticed a red cross on the back of each. They had been secretly marked by himself as a trap to catch the thief, whoever he might be.
“Now I have you, my man,” he thought. “This is the evidence I have been looking for. It settles the question of Benton’s guilt and Grant’s innocence.”
Vincent played two or three times for slight stakes, and rose from the table after a while neither a loser nor a winner.
He did not go immediately, but stayed, like many others, simply as a looker on.
“Won’t you join us?” asked Benton.
“No; I must go away soon. I want to write a letter. I only dropped in for a few minutes.”
Albert Benton played with unusual good fortune. He had been in the habit of bewailing his poor luck, but to-night the fates seemed to favor him. The little pile of gold before him gradually increased, until he had four hundred and seventy-five dollars.
“Twenty-five dollars more, and then I will stop,” he said. “To-morrow I will give notice to Smithson and get ready to leave Sacramento.”
But instead of winning the sum desired, he began to lose. He lost twenty-five dollars, and in desperation staked fifty. Should he win he would still have five hundred dollars, and then he would leave off. Upon that he was quite determined. But again he lost. He bit his lips, his face flushed, his hands trembled, and there was a gleam of excitement in his eye. He had no thought of leaving off now. It must be five hundred dollars or nothing!
There is no need to follow him through his mutations of luck. At the end of an hour he rose from the table without a dollar. He had enough, however, to buy a glass of whiskey, which he gulped down, and then staggered out of the gambling-house.
“I was so near, and yet I lost!” he said to himself bitterly. “Why didn’t I keep the four hundred and seventy-five dollars when I had it, and get the other from the restaurant? I have been a fool – a besotted fool!”
He pulled down his hat over his eyes and bent his steps homeward, where he tossed all night, unable to sleep.
But in the morning his courage returned.
“After all,” he reflected, “I am only ten dollars worse off than when I entered the gambling house, and that was money I took from Smithson. I’ve had a pretty good lesson. The next time fortune smiles upon me I’ll make sure of what I have won, and leave off in time.”
Vincent went straight from the gambling-house to the house of his friend Smithson. The latter came down stairs half dressed and let him in.
“What brought you here so late?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Because I have some news for you.”
“What is it? Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Oh, no; it is only that I have found the thief who has been robbing you.”
“It is the boy, then, as I thought,” said Smithson eagerly.
“No, it isn’t the boy.”
“Who, then?”
“Who else is there? It is Albert Benton.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Smithson, dumfounded.
“Yes; there is no doubt of it.”
“Come in and tell me how you found out.” Vincent entered and sat down on a chair in the front room.
“I will tell you,” he answered. “I took the liberty to go to your money drawer and mark four bills this afternoon. I marked them with a red cross on the right-hand corner of the reverse side. Well, Benton took two of those bills with him this evening when he stopped work.”
“How do you know?”
“I was near by when he left the restaurant. I followed him at a distance, and saw him enter Poole’s gambling-house.”
“Well?”
“I entered too, and took my place at a neighboring table. He produced a five-dollar bill, when some one suggested that gold was preferable. Upon that I offered to give him gold for bills. He produced two fives, and I gave him two gold pieces for them.”
“Well?”
“Here they are.”
The detective drew from his wallet two bank-notes, and showed Smithson the red cross on the reverse side of each.
CHAPTER XXI
ALBERT BENTON IS UNMASKED
“That’s pretty conclusive evidence, isn’t it?” said John Vincent, tapping the marked bills.
“I didn’t dream of it,” said the restaurant keeper.
“I did. I suspected him as soon as you told me he was trying to fasten suspicion upon Grant Colburn.”
“You don’t think the boy had anything to do with the theft?”
“I feel sure of it. The boy is an honest boy. You have only to look in his face to see that. I haven’t been a detective for nothing. I may be mistaken at times, but I can generally judge a man or boy by his face.”
“Does Benton know that you suspect him?”
“No. I wasn’t going to give myself away. By the way, he had quite a stroke of luck tonight.”
“At the gambling-house?”
“Yes. At one time he was a winner of nearly or quite five hundred dollars.”
“Then he will be able to make up to me the amount he has taken.”
“Don’t flatter yourself! I said he was a winner of that amount at one time. I didn’t say he went out with that sum. As a matter of fact, he lost it all, and left the place probably without a dollar.”
Smithson looked disappointed.
“Then,” he said, “I shan’t get my money back.”
“I am afraid not.”
“He must have taken hundreds of dollars.”
“Quite likely.”
“The villain!” exclaimed the restaurant keeper. “And I have paid him so liberally, too!”
“Well, Smithson, it might have been worse. I suspect you have a pretty tidy sum laid by.”
Smithson’s face changed, and he looked complacent.
“Yes, Vincent,” he said. “I’m worth a little money.”
“Good! Look upon this as a little set-back that won’t materially affect you, and put it down to the account of profit and loss.”
“Very, good! I will do so. But to-morrow I will give Mr. Benton his walking ticket.”
Albert Benton came to work as usual in the morning. His employer came in half an hour late. By this time the waiter had become resigned to his disappointment of the night previous. He recognized his folly in not making sure of the large sum he had at one time won, and determined to act more wisely in future.
Presently, when he chanced to be unemployed, Smithson beckoned to him.
“Benton,” he said, “you remember my speaking to you about missing money from the till?”
“Yes, sir; but I thought you decided that it was only a falling off in receipts.”
“Yes, I said that; but it seems to me that the deficiency is too great to be accounted for in that way.”
“You may be right, sir. You remember what I told you about the boy?”
“You think he took the money?”
“I feel about sure of it.”
“And you think he gambles it away?”
“Such is my impression.”
“How am I to find out the truth of the matter?”
“I would suggest that you have the boy searched. I feel sure that you will find that he has a considerable sum of money in his pocket.”
“That may be, but he will say that he has saved it from his wages.”
“Oh, yes; I have no doubt he will say so,” said Benton, nodding his head significantly.
“And it may be true. He doesn’t seem to spend much.”
“He has bought some clothes.”
“True; but he was quite able to do so out of what I pay him and have money left over.”
“Well, I hope it is so. I don’t want to harm the boy, but I thought it only due to you to tell you what I know.”
“You don’t appear to know much. You only suspect. However, I will call Grant and see what he has to say.”
Grant, being summoned, came up to where they were standing.
“Do you want to speak to me, Mr. Smithson?” he asked.
“Yes, Grant; about an unpleasant matter.”
“Have I done anything wrong? Are you dissatisfied with me?”
“I can’t say. The fact is, for some time past I have been missing money from the drawer.”
Grant’s look of surprise was genuine.
“I am very sorry to hear it,” he said.
“Of course the money could not have disappeared of itself. Some one must have taken it.”
“I hope you don’t suspect me,” said Grant quickly.
“I have always regarded you as honest, but Benton here tells me that you have formed some bad habits.”
“I should be glad to know what Mr. Benton has to say about me,” said Grant, regarding his fellow waiter with indignation. Benton, in spite of his assurance, could not help looking confused and ill at ease.
“He tells me that you are in the habit of visiting gambling saloons.”
“He has told you a falsehood,” said Grant boldly.
“I told you he would deny it, Mr. Smithson,” said Benton, determined to face it through.
“Has he seen me in a gambling-house?” demanded Grant.
“I have seen you coming out of one.”
“That’s false. If he can find any one to confirm his false charge, I will not object to your believing it.”
“I have no doubt a good many have seen you there.”
“Is there any other charge he brings against me, Mr. Smithson?”
“He says he has seen you under the influence of liquor.”
“That also is false. He has invited me to go into a saloon and take a drink, but I always refused.”
“Oh, you are an angel!” sneered Benton.
“I don’t pretend to be an angel, but I am honest and temperate, and I never drink.”
“I think, Mr. Smithson, if you will search the boy you will find a good sum of money in his pocket.”
“Is that true, Grant?” asked the restaurant keeper.
“Yes, sir. I have about a hundred dollars in my pocket.”
“I told you so,” said Benton triumphantly.
“I never knew there was anything wrong in saving money,” retorted Grant. “I am anxious to get together money enough to warrant me in going to the mines.”
“There is nothing wrong in that,” said Smithson kindly. “And now, Grant, that we have had Benton’s testimony against you, I want to ask you what you know against him.”
“I would rather not tell,” answered Grant.
“That is very creditable to you; but you must remember that you have a duty to me, your employer. Have you seen him enter a gambling-house?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Grant reluctantly.
“I told you, sir, that I had looked in once or twice,” said Benton, ill at ease.
“Only once or twice?”
“Well, I won’t be precise as to the number of times.”
“Were you in a gambling-house last night?”
“Yes; I looked on.”
“How long did you stay?”
“A few minutes.”
“Did you play?”
“No,” answered Benton hesitatingly.
“I wish I knew how much he knows,” thought Benton. “Somebody must have been telling him about me.”
“What, then, was your object in going in?”
“I was wakeful, and thought I would while away a few minutes there. When I felt sleepy, I withdrew.”
Just then Vincent entered, as previously arranged between him and Smithson.
“Mr. Vincent,” said the proprietor, “did you see either of my waiters in a gambling house last evening?”
“I saw him,” pointing to Benton.
“He admits that he went in, but says he did not play.”
“He seems to be forgetful,” said Vincent coolly. “He played for a considerable time, and had a great run of luck.”
Benton said nothing. He looked very much discomposed, but waited to see how much Vincent could tell.
“So he was a winner?”
“He won nearly five hundred dollars.”
“That doesn’t look as if he were the novice he claims to be.”
“But he didn’t keep his winnings. He kept on playing till he lost all he had won.”
“You must remember, sir,” interrupted Benton, “that a green hand is often luckier than a practiced gambler.”
“So I have heard.”
“And if I did play, that doesn’t convict me of having stolen money from your till.”
“That is true.”
“I was foolish, I admit, and I mean to give up the practice.”
“You said you didn’t play.”
“Because I thought it would make you think I was guilty of theft.”
“On that point I have other evidence.”
“What is it? If Grant says he saw me take anything he lies.”
“I have not said it, Mr. Benton.”
“Then I should like to know what evidence you can bring against me.”
“Do you remember these two bills?” asked Vincent, taking out his wallet and producing two five-dollar notes.
“Well, what about them?” asked Benton doggedly.
“I gave you two gold pieces for them last evening.”
“Yes; I believe you did.”
“You took them from the money drawer before you left the restaurant.”
“That is false!”
“Do you see the cross, in red ink, on the reverse side of the bills?”
“Well, what of it?”
“I marked the bills in that way, so as to be able to trace them.”
“Well,” said Benton faintly.
“They were put into the drawer at three o’clock yesterday afternoon. They must have been taken out some time between that hour and the time when you produced them in the gambling-house.”
“I am the victim of a conspiracy,” said Benton, turning pale.
“If it is a conspiracy to put my friend here on your track,” said Smithson, “then you have some color for your statement. Mr. Vincent is an old detective.”
Albert Benton was silenced. Ingenious as he was, there was nothing left for him to say.
“Now, Benton,” said Mr. Smithson, “how much have you taken from me during the time you have been in my employment?”
“Perhaps a hundred dollars,” answered Benton sullenly.
“I am very much mistaken if the amount is not four or five times as great. Are you prepared to make restitution?”
“I have no money.”
“Then I shall feel justified in ordering your arrest. Your guilt is aggravated by your seeking to throw the blame on Grant.”
“I have a valuable diamond at home. I will turn that over to you,” said Benton, with a sudden thought.
“How much is it worth?”
“I paid three hundred dollars for it.”
“You can go and get it.”
Benton took off his apron, put on his hat, and left the restaurant.
Half an hour – an hour – passed, and he did not return.
“Mr. Smithson,” said Vincent, “the fellow has given us the slip. He won’t come back, nor will you ever see anything of his diamond. I don’t believe, for my part, that he had any.”
The detective was right. Benton managed to borrow fifteen dollars of a friend, and within an hour he had left Sacramento for good.
CHAPTER XXII
PULLING UP STAKES
Mr. Smithson supplied the place vacated by Benton without delay. He engaged a man of middle age who had come back from the mines with a fair sum of money. Before the first week was up, he made his employer an offer for the restaurant, and after some negotiation the transfer was made.
“I should like to have you continue Grant Colburn in your employment,” said Smithson, with a kindly consideration for his young waiter.
“I am sorry to say that I cannot do it,” answered his successor. “I have a young townsman at the mines who has not been very successful. I have promised to send for him in case I went into business.”
“It is of no consequence,” said Grant. “I have always wanted to go to the mines, and now I have money enough to make the venture.”
The same day, by a lucky coincidence, Grant received the following letter from Tom Cooper:
Howe’s Gulch, October 5.
Dear Grant:
I have been meaning to write you for some time, but waited till I could tell whether I was likely to succeed or not. For the first month I was here I only got out enough gold-dust to pay my expenses, and envied father and you, who have a sure thing. The fact is, nothing is more uncertain than mining. You may strike it rich, or may fail entirely. Till last week it looked as if it would be the last in my case. But all at once I struck a pocket, and have thus far got two hundred and seventy-five dollars out of it, with more in prospect. That will make up for lost time. I tell you, Grant, it is a very exciting life. You are likely any day to make a strike. Further down the creek there is a long, lank Vermonter, who in a single week realized a thousand dollars from his claim. He took it pretty coolly, but was pleased all the same. “If this sort of thing continues a little longer,” he told me, “I’ll become a bloated bondholder, and go home and marry Sal Stebbins. She’s waitin’ for me, but the old man, her father, told her she’d have to wait till I could show him two thousand dollars, all my own. Well I don’t think I’ll have to wait long before that time comes,” and I guess he’s right.
But I haven’t said what I set out to say. That is I wish you would pull up stakes and come out here. I feel awful lonely, and would like your company. There’s a claim about a hundred feet from mine that I have bought for twenty-five dollars, and I will give it to you. The man that’s been workin’ it is a lazy, shiftless creeter, and although he’s got discouraged, I think it’s his fault that it hasn’t paid better. Half the time he’s been sittin’ down by his claim, readin’ a novel. If a man wants to succeed here, he’s got to have a good share of “get there” about him. I think you’ll fill the bill. Now, just pack up your things, and come right out. Go and see father and mother, but don’t show ’em this letter. I don’t want them to know how I am getting along. I mean some day to surprise ’em. Just tell them that I’m gettin’ fair pay, and hope to do better.
There’s a stage that leaves Sacramento Hotel for “these diggin’s.” You won’t have any trouble in findin’ it. Hopin’ soon to see you, I am,
Your friend,Tom Cooper.
This letter quite cheered up Grant. He was anxious to find out how it seemed to be digging for gold. He counted over his savings and found he had a little over a hundred dollars. But lack of money need not have interfered with his plans. On the same day he received a letter from Giles Crosmont, from which we extract a paragraph:
Remember, Grant, that when you get ready to go to the mines, you can draw upon me for any sum of money you want. Or, should you lose your place, or get short of money, let me know, and I will see that you are not inconvenienced for lack of funds. I am thinking of making a little investment in your name, which I think will be of advantage to you.
“That’s a friend worth having,” said Grant to himself. “If I had a father, I should like to have him like Mr. Crosmont. He certainly could not be any kinder.”
He wrote back that he was intending to start on the following day for Howe’s Gulch, and would write again from there. He concluded thus: “I thank you very much for your kind offer of a loan, but I have enough to start me at the mines, and will wait till I stand in need. When I do need money, I won’t hesitate to call upon you, for I know that you are a true friend.”
He went round to see the blacksmith the next forenoon.
“How do you happen to be off work at this hour?” asked Mr. Cooper.
“I’m a gentleman of leisure, Mr. Cooper.”
“How is that, Grant? You haven’t been discharged, have you?”
“Well, I’ve lost my place. Mr. Smithson has sold out his restaurant, and the new man has a friend of his whom he is going to put in my place.”
“I’m sorry, Grant,” said the blacksmith in a tone of concern. “It doesn’t seem hardly fair.”
“Oh, it’s all right, Mr. Cooper. I am going out to the mines, as I always intended to do. I shall start to-morrow morning.”
“I wish you luck. I don’t know how Tom is getting along.”
“Then I can tell you, for I’ve had a letter from him. He writes that he is doing fairly well.”
Jerry Cooper shook his head.
“I guess he ain’t doing as well as he did on the old farm at home,” he said.
“He writes very cheerfully and wants me to come out.”
“He’s too proud to own up that he’s disappointed. Just tell him that if he wants to come back to Sacramento and help me in the shop, I can give him two dollars a day and his living.”
“I’ll tell him, sir. I hope you are doing well.”
“I never did so well in my life,” answered the blacksmith complacently. “Why, Grant, I’ve averaged ten dollars a day over and above all expenses ever since I took the shop. How is that for high?”
“Why, father, I never knew you to use slang before,” said Mrs. Cooper reprovingly.
“Can’t help it, old lady. It’s my good luck that makes me a bit frisky. If we were only to home, I’d give you money to buy a new bonnet and a silk dress.”
“Thank you, father, but they wouldn’t do me any good here. Just fancy me walking through the town dressed up in that style. How folks would stare! When I get home I won’t mind accepting your offer.”
“Well, folks don’t dress much here, that’s a fact. Why, they don’t dress as much as they did in Crestville. I never looked so shabby there, but nobody takes any notice of it. There’s one comfort, if I don’t wear fine clothes it isn’t because I can’t afford it.”
“If you’re going away to-morrow, Grant,” said Mrs. Cooper hospitably, “you must come and take supper with us to-night. I don’t know as I can give you any brown bread, but I’ll give you some baked beans, in Eastern style.”
“I shall be glad to get them, Mrs. Cooper. I haven’t tasted any since I left home.”
“I wish I could send some to Tom,” said his mother. “Poor fellow, I don’t suppose he gets many of the comforts of home where he is.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t carry the beans very conveniently,” said Grant, with a laugh.
On his way back to the restaurant, to make some preparations for his coming departure, he was accosted by a tall, thin man, who looked like a lay preacher.
“My young friend,” he said, with an apologetic cough, “excuse me for addressing you, but I am in great need of assistance. I – Why, it’s Grant!” he exclaimed in amazement.
“Mr. Silverthorn!”
“Yes, my young friend, it is your old friend Silverthorn, who counts himself fortunate in meeting you once more,” and he grasped Grant’s reluctant hand and shook it vigorously.
“You may be my old friend, Mr. Silverthorn,” returned Grant, “but it strikes me you didn’t treat me as such when you took the money from my pocket.”
“I acknowledge it, Grant, I acknowledge it,” said Silverthorn, as he took the same old red silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes, “but I was driven to it by want and dire necessity.”
“Well, let it pass! When did you reach Sacramento?”
“Only yesterday. Ah, Grant, I have had sad vicissitudes! I wandered in the wilderness, nearly starving, till I came across a party of Pennsylvania Quakers, who aided me and brought me with them to this place.”
“I hope you did not repay their hospitality as you did ours.”
“No, no. I obeyed the promptings of my better nature. And now, how have you prospered? Have you been to the mines?”
“No, I have been employed in a restaurant.”
“In a restaurant! Oh, how the word moves me! Ah, Grant, I have not tasted food for twenty-four hours.”
“Come with me, then, and I will see that you have a dinner.”
He took Silverthorn to the restaurant and authorized him to order what he liked. Mr. Silverthorn was by no means backward in accepting the invitation, and Grant had a dollar to pay.
“I feel better!” sighed Silverthorn. “Do you think I could get employment here?”
“No; my place is taken.”
“And how are my old friends, the Coopers?”
“Mr. Cooper is running a blacksmith shop, and Tom is at Howe’s Gulch, where I am going.”
“Could you – you are so kind – pay my expenses to the mines? I should so like to see my friend Tom.”
“No, I couldn’t,” answered Grant bluntly.
“I thought I would ask,” said Silverthorn, by no means abashed. “Tell Mr. Cooper that I will soon call at his shop.”
“I don’t think he will care to see you,” thought Grant.