“I dunno, but the store was entered last night. I never shall feel safe again,” groaned Silas.
“Didn’t they leave no traces?”
“Ha! here’s a handkerchief,” said Mr. Tripp, taking the article from the top of a flour barrel, “and yes, by gracious, it’s marked Chester Rand.”
“You don’t think he took the money?” ejaculated Abel, in open-eyed wonder.
“Of course it must have been him! He knew just where I kept the money, and he could find his way about in the dark, he knew the store so well.”
“I didn’t think Chester would do such a thing.”
“That’s how he came by his five-dollar bill. He came in bold as brass and paid me with my own money—the young rascal!”
“But how could he do it if the money was took last night? It was two or three days ago he paid you the five-dollar bill.”
This was a poser, but Mr. Tripp was equal to the emergency.
“He must have robbed me before,” he said.