At ten o'clock they stepped on board a Western bound train. Dean feared that Kirby would miss his letter, and make inquiries about it, but its loss appeared not to have been discovered. They took seats, and the train started. Dean caught Kirby regarding him with a peculiar gaze, and it made him uneasy. Was he devising some plot, of which Dean was to be the victim? Two hours later the train had traversed fifty miles. The train boy came through the car, carrying a supply of the latest novels. Kirby was not in general much of a reader, but on this occasion he stopped the boy and looked over his books. "I think I will take this book," he said, selecting a Pinkerton detective story. "I sell a good many of that series," said the boy glibly. Kirby put his hand into his pocket, and withdrew it with a startled expression. "I can't find my pocket-book," he said. Several of the passengers looked round, and apprehensively felt for their own wallets. "When did you have it last, sir?" asked an old gentleman in the next seat. "At the Clifton railroad station, sir. I bought tickets there." "Are you sure you put back the wallet into your pocket?" "Yes, I am positive." "There must be a pickpocket on the train then." "But I haven't exposed myself," said Kirby puzzled. "I took my seat here, with my boy, and have not stirred since." "Your son, I suppose?" "No; he is a boy in my employ." "Humph!" said the old man, eying Dean dubiously. "You don't mean that you suspect him of taking it?" said Kirby in a low tone. Dean heard these words, and he exclaimed indignantly. "I am not a thief, if that is what the gentleman means." "Of course not," said Kirby soothingly—"Still, just to convince him now, you may as well search your pockets." Dean thrust his hand into his right pocket (he wore a sack coat) and it came in contact with something unexpected. He drew it out, with the lost pocket-book in it. "Is it possible?" ejaculated Kirby. "Just what I thought!" said the old man, nodding emphatically. "I wouldn't have believed it," said Kirby. "Mr. Kirby," said Dean, his face flaming with indignation, "do you mean to charge me with taking that pocket-book?" "What else can I think? Oh, Dean, I am grieved to find you dishonest." "I know nothing of how it came into my pocket," said Dean hotly, "but I suspect." "What do you suspect?" "That you put it there to get me into trouble." "You hear him!" said Kirby, turning to the old man. "What shameless effrontery!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I don't know what the world is coming to. Have you ever missed anything before, sir?" "Two or three articles of jewelry," answered Kirby, "but it never occurred to me to suspect the boy." "It seems pretty clear now." "Yes, I should say so."