y, I
mean. I haven't taken a cent."

"Then why did you open the secretary?"

"I did mean to take money, but she stopped me."

"Oh, she stopped you?" repeated Linden, with withering sarcasm. "Then,
perhaps, you will tell me where the money is gone?"

"He hasn't discovered about the will," thought Curtis, congratulating
himself; "if the boy has it, I must manage to give him a chance to
escape."

"You can search me if you want to," continued Dodger, proudly. "You
won't find no money on me."

"Do you think I am a fool, you young burglar?" exclaimed John Linden,
angrily.

"Uncle, let me speak to the boy," said Curtis, soothingly. "I think he
will tell me."

"As you like, Curtis; but I am convinced that he is a thief."

Curtis Waring beckoned Dodger into an adjoining room.

"Now, my boy," he said, smoothly, "give me what you took from the
secretary, and I will see that you are not arrested."

"But, sir, I didn't take nothing--it's just as I told the old duffer.
The girl waked up just as I'd got the secretary open, and I didn't
have a chance."

"But the money is gone," said Curtis, in an incredulous tone.

"I don't know nothing about that."

"Come, you'd better examine your pockets. In the hurry of the moment
you may have taken it without knowing it."

"No, I couldn't."

"Didn't you take a paper of any kind?" asked Curtis, eagerly.
"Sometimes papers are of more value than money."

"No, I didn't take no paper, though Tim told me to."

Curtis quietly ignored the allusion to Tim, for it did not suit his
purpose to get Tim into trouble. His unscrupulous agent knew too much
that would compromise his principal.

"Are you willing that I should examine you?"

"Yes, I am. Go ahead."

Curtis thrust his hand into the pockets of the boy, who, boy as he
was, was as tall as himself, but was not repaid by the discovery of
anything. He was very much perplexed.

"Didn't you throw the articles on the floor?" he demanded,
suspiciously.

"No, I didn't."

"You didn't give them to the young lady?"

"No; if I had she'd have said so."

"Humph! this is strange. What is your name?"

"Dodger."

"That's a queer name; have you no other?"

"Not as I know of."

"With whom do you live?"

"With my father. Leastways, he says he's my father."

There was a growing suspicion in the mind of Curtis Waring. He scanned
the boy's features with attention. Could this ill-dressed boy--a
street boy in appearance--be his long-l