The answer almost took Mr. Smith's breath away.
"Your favorite clerk, Will Stuart, put it there, for I saw him do it," said Sam.
And then he went on to describe, in as few words as possible, what Stuart had done while he was in Oscar's shop, and explained the object he had in view in taking the pocket-book out of the drawer without Oscar's knowledge.
Mr. Smith pushed his spectacles over his forehead and listened intently to all the boy had to say, and, when Sam ceased speaking, he brought his hand down upon his desk with a ringing slap.
"I wondered why Stuart was so eager to drive the delivery-wagon this afternoon, and this explains it," said he. "I see it all now. Stuart knew that I do not often have occasion to open that little drawer in the safe, and he probably took the book a day or two ago—I know it was there last Saturday, for I saw it—thinking that, if he placed it in Oscar's bench, where it would certainly have been found if we had taken out a search-warrant, we would believe that he stole it before he was discharged. You have no objection to facing Stuart, I suppose?"
"None whatever," Sam promptly replied; "that is just what we came here for."
Mr. Smith climbed down from his high stool, unlocked and opened the door, and looked out into the store. The only person he saw there was the junior partner.
"Send Stuart here, will you?" said he.
"Stuart has gone home," was the reply. "He had a sudden attack of sick headache."