Mr. Holland’s room had already been attended to, and was not again entered until half-past five in the afternoon, when Mr. Holland, who was a clerk in a down-town office, returned home.
He had missed the pocket-book shortly after leaving the house in the morning, but, being expected at the office at a certain hour, had not been able to return for it. He had borrowed money of a fellow-clerk to pay for his lunch.
As he entered the room, he saw his pocket-book lying on the bureau.
“There it is, all safe,” he said to himself, quite relieved; for, though in receipt of a handsome salary, no one would care to lose twenty dollars.
He was about to put the pocket-book into his pocket unexamined, when it occurred to him to open it, and make sure that the contents were untouched. He was startled on finding less than a dollar, where he distinctly remembered that there had been nearly twenty-one dollars.
“Some one has taken it,” he said to himself. “I must see Mrs. Merton about this.”
He did not get an opportunity of speaking to the landlady until after dinner, when he called her aside, and told her of his loss.
“Are you quite sure, Mr. Holland,” she asked, considerably disturbed, “there were twenty dollars in the pocket-book?”
“Yes, Mrs. Merton. I remember distinctly having counted the money this morning, before laying it on the bureau. It must have been taken by some one in the house. Now, who was likely to enter the room? Which of your servants makes the bed?”
“It was Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton, with a sudden conviction that Tom was the guilty party.