So he at once laid a plan to have Dave arrested for supposed pocket-picking.
The next morning he met Dave in the reading room, where he had gone to glance over the newspapers.
Unknown to Dave he approached the lad and dropped into his coat pocket a pocket-book containing ten dollars and a visiting card upon which was written his name, Peter Rackley.
Then he walked out into the hallway to the door of the hotel, stopped suddenly, and gave a cry:
"My pocket-book! It is gone!"
"What's that, sir?" demanded the hotel clerk, who happened to be passing.
"My pocket-book is gone! It must have been stolen from me!"
"Did it have much in it?"
"Ten dollars or more."
"Perhaps you dropped it, sir."