“Can you answer the boy's question, Mrs. Simpson?”
“Of course I can. His name is John Cavanaugh, and the very suit he has on I gave him.”
Grant was thunderstruck at the lady's brazen front. She was outwardly a fine lady, but he began to suspect that she was an impostor.
“I am getting tired of this,” said the so-called Mrs. Simpson, impatiently. “Will you, or will you not, restore my pearls?” “When we are satisfied that they belong to you, madam,” said the elder salesman, coolly. “I don't feel like taking the responsibility, but will send for my employer, and leave the matter to him to decide.”
“I hope I won't have long to wait, sir.”
“I will send at once.”
“It's a pretty state of things when a lady has her own property kept from her,” said Mrs. Simpson, while the elder clerk was at the other end of the store, giving some instructions to a boy.
“I don't in the least doubt your claim to the articles, Mrs. Simpson,” said the first salesman, obsequiously. “Come, boy, you'd better own up that you have stolen the articles, and the lady will probably let you off this time.”
“Yes, I will let him off this time,” chimed in the lady. “I don't want to send him to prison.”
“If you can prove that I am a thief, I am willing to go,” said Grant, hotly.