Meanwhile, Jim skillfully directed the search.
“He may have put it under the mattress,” suggested Jim.
Socrates darted to the bed, and lifted up the mattress, but no wallet revealed itself to his searching eyes.
“No; it is not here!” he said, in a tone of disappointment; “the boy may have it about him. I will send for him.”
“Wait a moment, Uncle Socrates,” said Jim; “there is a pair of pants which I recognize as his.”
Mr. Smith immediately thrust his hand into one of the pockets and drew out the wallet!
“Here it is!” he exclaimed, joyfully. “Here it is!”
“Then Roscoe is a thief! I wouldn’t have thought it!” said Jim.
“Nor I. I thought the boy was of too good family to stoop to such a thing. But now I remember, Mr. Allan Roscoe told me he was only adopted by his brother. He is, perhaps, the son of a criminal.”
“Very likely!” answered Jim, who was glad to believe anything derogatory to Hector.