Steve and the Steam Engine Part 13

Stephen jumped up.

"I suppose she is right, too," went on Mr. Tolman breathlessly, "but the delay is very unfortunate."

They made their way into the corridor, where by this time an office clerk and another man had joined the maid who was in charge of the coat rack.

Stephen presented his check and without comment the woman handed him his coat. With trembling hand he dived into the deep pocket and from it drew forth the red bill book which he gave to his father.

"There it is, Dad, safe and sound!" he gasped.

Instantly the clerk was in their path.

"I beg pardon, sir," said he with deference, "but does that pocketbook belong to you?"

Mr. Tolman wheeled about.

"Eh--what did you say?" he inquired.

"I asked, sir, if that pocketbook was your property?" repeated the clerk.

Mr. Tolman faced his inquisitor.

"What business is that of yours?" he demanded curtly.

"I am sorry, sir, to appear rude," the hotel employee replied, "but we have been asked to be on the lookout for a young lad who rode this morning on one of the Fifth Avenue busses where a valuable pocketbook was lost. Your son tallies so well with the description that--"

"It was I," put in Stephen eagerly, without regard for consequences.

"Who wants me?"

With a smile of eagerness he turned, expecting to encounter the genial face of his acquaintance of the morning. Then he would smile, hold out the pocketbook, and they would laugh together as he explained the adventure, and perhaps afterward have luncheon in company.

Instead no familiar form greeted him. On the contrary the slender man who had been standing beside the clerk came forward.

Mr. Tolman sensed the situation in a second.

"You mean somebody thinks my son took the pocketbook?" asked he indignantly, as he confronted the clerk and his companion.

"It is not my affair, sir, and I am sorry it should happen in our hotel," apologized the clerk. "Perhaps if you will just explain the whole matter to this gentleman--" he broke off, saying in an undertone to the man at his elbow. "This is your boy, Donovan."

The tall man came nearer.

"You are a detective?" asked Mr. Tolman bluntly.

"Well, something of the sort, sir," admitted the man called Donovan. "It is occasionally my business to hunt people up."

"And you have been sent to hunt my son up?"

Donovan nodded.

Stephen turned white and his father put a rea.s.suring hand on his shoulder.

"My son and I," he replied, addressing the detective quietly, "can explain this entire affair to you and will do so gladly. The boy did find the pocketbook but he was ignorant of its value because he has not even looked inside it. In fact, that he had the article in his possession did not come into his mind until a few moments ago. If he had known the thing was valuable, do you suppose he would have left it in his ulster pocket and checked the coat in a public place like this?"

The detective made no reply.

"We both shall be very glad," went on Mr. Tolman firmly, "to go with you to headquarters and straighten the matter out."

"There may be no need of that, sir," Donovan responded with a pleasant smile. "If we can just talk the affair over in a satisfactory way--"

"Suppose you come upstairs to our room," suggested Mr. Tolman. "That will give us more quiet and privacy. Will that be agreeable to you?"

"Perfectly."

As the three walked toward the elevator Steve glanced with trepidation at the plain-clothes man.

The boy knew he had done nothing wrong; but would he be able to convince the detective of the truth of his story? He was thoroughly frightened and wondered whether his father was also alarmed.

If, however, Mr. Tolman was worried he at least did not show it. Instead he courteously led the way from the elevator down the dim corridor and unlocked the door of Number 379.

"Come in, Mr. Donovan," he said cordially. "Here is a chair and a cigar.

Now, son, tell us the story of this troublesome pocketbook from beginning to end."

In a trembling voice Stephen began his tale. He spoke slowly, uncertainly, for he was well scared. Gradually, however, he forgot his agitation and his voice became more positive. He recounted the details of the omnibus ride with great care, adding ingenuously when he came to the termination of the narrative:

"And I hoped the man's name would be inside the pocketbook because I liked him very much and wanted to return to him what he had lost."

"And wasn't it?" put in Mr. Donovan quickly.

"I don't know," was the innocent retort. "Don't you remember I told you that I hadn't looked inside yet?"

The detective laughed with satisfaction.

"That was a shabby trick of mine, youngster," said he. "It was mean to try to trap you."

"Trap me?" repeated Steve vaguely.

"There, there, sonny!" went on Donovan kindly. "Don't you worry a minute more about this mix-up. Mr. Ackerman, the gentleman who lost the bill book, did not think for a second that you had taken it. He simply was so sure that he had lost it on the bus that he wanted to locate you and find out whether you knew anything about it or not. His name was not inside the pocketbook, you see, and therefore any one who found it would have no way of tracing its owner. What it contains are valuable papers and a big wad of Liberty Bonds which, as your father knows, could quickly be converted into cash. In consequence Mr. Ackerman decided that the sooner the pocketbook was found the better. The omnibus people denied any knowledge of it and you were the only remaining clue."

Mr. Tolman sank back in his chair and a relaxation of his muscles betrayed for the first time that he had been much more disturbed than he had appeared to be.

"Well," he said, lighting a fresh cigar, "the bill book is not only located but we can hand it back intact to its owner. If you can inform us where the gentleman lives, my boy and I will call a taxi and go to his house or office with his property."

A flush of embarra.s.sment suffused the face of the officer.

"Maybe you would like to come with us, Donovan," added Mr. Tolman, who instantly interpreted the man's confusion.

"I hate to be d.o.g.g.i.ng your footsteps, sir, in this fas.h.i.+on," Mr. Donovan answered, with obvious sincerity. "Still, I--"

"You have your orders, no doubt."