A slight flush overspread the pale face of the young preacher, and he said a little hurriedly—
“Ah, indeed? I am pleased to hear that. Excuse me just now; I must hurry home.”
He moved away abruptly, and the deacon stood staring after him, now thoroughly convinced of the soundness of his suspicions.
“A minister of the Gospel to descend to a mean theft like that!” he said to himself. “I must call a meeting of the managers and report the whole case.”
It happened to be the month of July, and there was a difficulty in getting a quorum of the managers together, but at length Aikman was promised a full meeting, which took place on the Wednesday following in his own house. There, after shutting themselves in, and making sure that no one could overhear, the four men considered the case of the stolen bank note. Of course they were shocked at the implied guilt of one whom they revered and trusted so much, but Aikman piled up his facts in such a minute and positive manner, that even without additional evidence there would have been little diversity of opinion among them. At this stage, and when Aikman had scarcely concluded, another of the managers quickly exclaimed—
“Why, Mr Morrison changed a £5 note with me yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” echoed another, to whom the minister owed a small sum. “And he told me on Saturday that he had no money, and would not have till next quarter day.”
“There! What did I say?” cried Aikman with triumphant energy. “Could anything be clearer than that? I know for a fact that he has no money—it is all eaten up long before it is paid to him by me; yet there you have proof that near the end of the quarter he pays away money, and that a £5 note. Have you the note yet?” he added to the man who had received the payment.
He had, and would run and get it. A wiser plan would have been to first make Mr Aikman describe the note put in the plate, and write down its number, and then send for that received from the minister, and compare the record with the note, but that was never thought of. The other deacon had only half a street to traverse, and was back in a few minutes with a crisp bank note. It was of the Bank of Scotland, and nearly new. Mr Aikman snatched it from the bearer—opened it, glanced at the device and the number, and then exclaimed—
“It’s a clear case! look at the number for yourselves, ‘7607’—the very figures of the one I saw lying in the plate. I couldn’t help reading them, for the note lay open, and I never forget anything.”