"Well," he said, "I found something in the cars. Perhaps you'd better identify it. Prove property, you know."
"Come in," said Mr. Vanderpoel, drawing Jim inside and closing the door. "Was it a pocket book you found?"
Jim nodded.
"With money in it?" eagerly.
Jim nodded again.
"Five thousand dollars?" Mr. Vanderpoel whispered.
"I didn't count it," said Jim, briefly. "There it is."
He handed over the book, which Mr. Vanderpoel seized and breathlessly opened. The money was in fifty dollar bills, and did not take long to count. When counted it proved to be all right.
"Yes," said Mr. Vanderpoel, delightedly. "It's all there. It must have dropped out of my pocket when I threw that paper at you in the car. Served me right for making such a lunatic of myself! But what a sell!" rubbing his hands gleefully. "What a tremendous sell on those villains that they didn't get a penny of it! Now come in to dinner"—leading the way through the hall—"and tell me all about yourself. You saved my life, and I'm going to do the correct thing."