Arrived at the end of the route, Melville and Herbert remained on the car, and returned at once to the city. When they reached the crowded part of Washington Street a surprise awaited Herbert. From a small jewelry store they saw a man come out, and walk rapidly away. “Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, in excitement, “do you see that man?” “Yes. What of him?” “It is the man who tried to rob me on Bunker Hill Monument.” He had hardly uttered these words when another man darted from the shop, bareheaded, and pursued Herbert's morning acquaintance, crying, “Stop, thief!” The thief took to his heels, but a policeman was at hand, and seized him by the collar. “What has this man been doing?” he asked, as the jeweler's clerk came up, panting. “He has stolen a diamond ring from the counter,” answered the clerk. “I think he has a watch besides.” “It's a lie!” said the thief, boldly. “Search him!” said the clerk, “and you'll find that I have made no mistake.” “Come with me to the station house, and prepare your complaint,” said the policeman. By this time a crowd had gathered, and the thief appealed to them. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I am a reputable citizen of St. Louis, come to Boston to buy goods, and I protest against this outrage. It is either a mistake or a conspiracy, I don't know which.” The thief was well dressed, and some of the bystanders were disposed to put confidence in him. He had not seen Herbert and George Melville, who had left the car and joined the throng, or he might not have spoken so confidently. “He doesn't look like a thief,” said one of the bystanders, a benevolent-looking old gentleman. “I should say not,” said the thief, more boldly. “It's a pretty state of things if a respectable merchant can't enter a store here in Boston without being insulted and charged with theft. If I only had some of my friends or acquaintances here, they would tell you that it is simply ridiculous to make such a charge against me.” “You can explain this at the station house,” said the policeman. “It is my duty to take you there.” “Is there no one who knows the gentleman?” said the philanthropist before referred to. “Is there no one to speak up for him?” Herbert pressed forward, and said, quietly: “I know something of him; I passed the morning in his company.” The thief turned quickly, but he didn't seem gratified to see Herbert. “The boy is mistaken,” he said, hurriedly; “I never saw him before.” “But I have seen you, sir,” retorted our hero. “You saw me draw some money from a bank in State Street, scraped acquaintance with me, and tried to rob me of it on Bunker Hill.” “It's a lie!” said the prisoner, hoarsely. “Do you wish to make a charge to that effect?” asked the policeman. “No, sir; I only mentioned what I knew of him to support the charge of this gentleman,” indicating the jeweler's clerk.