Paul Prescott's Charge

This conversation took place at the dinner-table. Mr. Danforth understood that no time was to be lost if he expected to gain any information from the movements of his clerk.

George Dawkins had ventured upon a bold act, but he had been apparently favored by fortune, and had succeeded. That he should have committed this crime without compunction could hardly be expected. His uneasiness, however, sprang chiefly from the fear that in some way he might yet be detected. He resolved to get rid of the money which he had obtained dishonestly, and obtain back from Duval the acknowledgment of indebtedness which he had given him.

You will perhaps ask whether the wrong which he had done Paul affected him with uneasiness. On the contrary, it gratified the dislike which from the first he had cherished towards our hero.

“I am well rid of him, at all events,” he muttered to himself, “that is worth risking some thing for.”

When office hours were over Dawkins gladly threw down his pen, and left the counting-room.

He bent his steps rapidly towards the locality where he had before met Duval. He had decided to wait some time before meeting that worthy. He had to wait till another day, when as he was emerging from the tavern he encountered the Frenchman on the threshold.

“Aha, my good friend,” said Duval, offering his hand, which Dawkins did not appear to see, “I am very glad to see you. Will you come in?”

“No, I have not time,” said Dawkins, shortly.

“Have you brought me my money?”

“Yes.”

“Aha, that is well. I was just about what you call cleaned out.”

“Have you my note with you?”

Duval fumbled in his pocket-book, and finally produced the desired document.

“Give it to me.”

“I must have the money first,” said the Frenchman, shrewdly.

“Take it,” said Dawkins contemptuously. “Do you judge me by yourself?”

He tore the note which he received into small pieces, and left Duval without another word.

Sheltered by the darkness, Mr. Danforth, who had tracked the steps of Dawkins, had been an unseen witness of this whole transaction.

XXXII

RIGHT TRIUMPHANT

George Dawkins resumed his duties the next morning as usual. Notwithstanding the crime he had committed to screen himself from the consequences of a lighter fault, he felt immeasurably relieved at the thought that he had shaken himself free from the clutches of Duval. His satisfaction was heightened by the disgrace and summary dismissal of Paul, whom he had never liked. He decided to ask the place for a cousin of his own, whose society would be more agreeable to him than that of his late associate.

“Good-morning, sir,” he said, as Mr. Danforth entered.

“Good-morning,” returned his employer, coldly.

“Have you selected any one in Prescott’s place, yet, sir?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I have a cousin, Malcolm Harcourt, who would be glad to take it.”

“Indeed!” said Mr. Danforth, whose manner somewhat puzzled Dawkins.

“I should enjoy having him with me,” continued Dawkins.

“Did you like Prescott?”

“No, sir,” said Dawkins, promptly, “I didn’t want to say so before, but now, since he’s turned out so badly, I don’t mind saying that I never thought much of him.”

“On the contrary,” said Mr. Danforth, “I liked him from the first. Perhaps we are wrong in thinking that he took the money.”

“I should think there could be no doubt of it,” said Dawkins, not liking the sympathy and returning good feeling for Paul which his employer manifested.

“I don’t agree with you,” said Mr. Danforth, coldly. “I have decided to reinstate Paul in his former place.”

“Then, if any more money is missing, you will know where it has gone,” said Dawkins, hastily.

“I shall.”

“Then there is no chance for my cousin?”

“I am expecting to have a vacancy.”

Dawkins looked up in surprise.

“I shall require some one to fill YOUR place,” said Mr. Danforth, significantly.

“Sir!” exclaimed Dawkins, in astonishment and dismay.

His employer bent a searching glance upon him as he asked, sternly, “where did you obtain the money which you paid away last evening?”

“I—don’t—understand—you, sir,” gasped Dawkins, who understood only too well.

“You met a man at the door of a low tavern in—Street, last evening, to whom you paid one hundred and fifty dollars, precisely the sum which I lost yesterday.”

“Who has been slandering me, sir?” asked Dawkins, very pale.

“An eye-witness of the meeting, who heard the conversation between you. If you want more satisfactory proof, here it is.”

Mr. Danforth took from his pocket-book the torn fragments of the note which Dawkins had given to Duval.

“Here is an obligation to pay a certain Duval the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars. It bears your signature. How you could have incurred such a debt to him you best know.”

Dawkins maintained a sullen silence.

“I suppose you wish me to leave your employment,” he said at length.

“You are right. Hold,” he added, as Dawkins was about leaving the room, “a word more. It is only just that you should make a restitution of the sum which you have taken. If you belonged to a poor family and there were extenuating circumstances, I might forego my claim. But your father is abundantly able to make good the loss, and I shall require you to lay the matter before him without loss of time. In consideration of your youth, I shall not bring the matter before the public tribunals, as I have a right to do.”