“Who are you?” asked the detected swindler, in a faltering voice.
“Pry, the detective.”
“Will you let me go if I restore this bond?”
“No; there is another case I must inquire into—that of a farmer from whom you bought some coupons a day or two since, paying him in the same worthless rags. Sit down here,” pointing to a vacant seat. “You may consider yourself under arrest.”
Great was the consternation of the mechanic when he learned how nearly he had been swindled, and profuse were his thanks to Harry and the officer.
“Be more prudent the next time,” said the latter, “and don’t sell bonds to a stranger in the cars again.”
We may as well add that the traveling broker was duly tried, and sentenced to a term in State’s prison, and that enough good money was found on him to repay the farmer for the coupons he had imprudently parted with.
Greatly to his satisfaction, Harry was intrusted with the office of acquainting Simon Jones with the pleasant fact that his money would be restored to him.