“I didn’t take any money!” insisted Tom.
The aged physician opened the wallet and examined it.
“Well, if this isn’t a queer thing!” he exclaimed. “I meant to put a hundred dollars in it this morning, to buy a rare copy of Gibbon’s Rome, but I forgot it. I haven’t a cent with me. You’ll have to lend me some, Barton.”
“Are you sure you didn’t give the hundred dollars away?” remarked Mr. Spidderkins’ relative with a sneer.
“No; I’m sure I left it home. I put it in back of the first edition of Bacon’s Essays. I remember now. My pocketbook hasn’t a cent in it, so if any one had taken it, he wouldn’t have stolen anything.”
Tom looked relieved. Still, he wanted to be cleared of the least suspicion, and he did not know how this was going to be brought about. Unexpectedly, however, matters turned out right.
Quite a crowd had collected by this time, and a policeman was edging his way through it.
“What’s the matter?” asked several. “Anybody killed?” was another inquiry.
“This boy tried to steal Dr. Spidderkins’ pocketbook,” declared Mr. Sandow.
“I did not!” indignantly denied Tom, and he explained what had really happened.