“He must have the money about him,” suggested the minister. “You’d better search his pockets, Mr. Perkins.”
The constable thrust his hand into the pocket of his helpless charge, and drew out a roll of bills.
Silas Tripp uttered an exclamation of joy.
“Give it to me,” he said. “It’s my money.”
The bills were counted and all were there.
Not one was missing. Part of the silver could not be found. It had probably slipped from his pocket, for he had no opportunity of spending any.
Mr. Tripp was so pleased to recover his bills that he neglected to complain of the silver coins that were missing. But still he felt incensed against the thief.
“You’ll suffer for this,” he said, sternly, eying the tramp over his glasses.
“Who says I will?”
“I say so. You’ll have to go to jail.”