"I brought you the money, sir," Peter said. "You'll find it all there; fifty thousand dollars."
The Old Man's eyes lit up with pleasure. Peter could almost see the green glow of money in them.
"Excellent," said Mr. Crabley. "So the police caught the thief, hey? He'll get twenty years for this."
"No, sir," Peter replied. "They haven't caught Quiggs yet, and they haven't found the money. This is out of my—ah—my savings."
The Old Man's scraggly brows shot up. "Indeed? Savings? I didn't know you actually had that much. Hmmm. Well. Mmmm." He rubbed his hands together and frowned. "Well, this is really quite handsome of you, young man. You have more brains than I credited you with. Hmmm." He took out a letter opener and toyed with it. Finally, he said: "Peter, my boy, I'll tell you: I really didn't mean that you should do this; I was simply trying to throw a scare into you. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, my boy; I'm going to place this to your account with the firm. Henceforth, you are a junior partner of Crabley & Company, to the tune of fifty thousand dollars.
"In addition, I'll have Mr. Twythe, the firm's lawyer, draw up a paper which will give you all rights to whatever money is recovered from Quiggs by the police."
Peter started to say something, but Old Man Crabley just patted the air with a hand. "Tut, tut, my boy; think nothing of it. Any young man who can save a sum like that at your age deserves extra consideration. I have always admired a man who can make money."
Peter thanked Mr. Crabley as best he could and then he strolled back to his office feeling a rosy glow.
During the following two weeks, Peter Merton's personal fortune grew by leaps and bounds. Most of the cash he kept in a trunk in his apartment; he knew that people would start to ask questions if he put too much of it in the bank at once. But he did put considerable sums in the bank, nonetheless.