"I hate to do it," he muttered, "but it will be better even for the boy’s own sake. A sharp fright may do him good and teach him a useful lesson. If he isn’t found out now he is pretty certain to go from bad to worse. It’s an awful pity, too. He’s a smart lad, and ought to do well; but I shall never feel able to trust him again, and I shan’t feel justified in recommending him to any one else." The shopkeeper kept his suspicions to himself, saying nothing even to his wife. He had watched Jim closely, however, while affecting to be busy in another part of the shop. Nothing resulted from this amateur detective work, but Mr. Broad noticed that several times during the evening Jim cast glances toward the door. This certainly seemed rather odd, but it was no proof of guilt; and the stationer concluded his best plan was to lay a trap for Jim, and then go off the premises, leaving him a clear field. The opportunity came the next day when most of the shops closed early. Mr. Broad was compelled to keep open because of the evening papers; but as soon as they were dispatched, the gas was lowered, and there was nothing to do beyond waiting for the errand-boy’s return. As a rule the master did this himself, and Jim had an hour or two off. On this particular evening, however, Mr. Broad said, "Hartland, I am going out, so you must stay till I return." "Very good, sir," replied Jim, who really thought it was very bad, for he had promised to meet Curly Peters at the bottom of the street. Mr. Broad went round the shop, turned down the lights, except the one over the desk, and went out, saying,— "If I am not here by half-past nine, turn the gas off at the meter, lock the door, and bring the keys to my house. Most likely though I shall be back." "Yes, sir," said Jim, who earnestly hoped he would. "Upon my word," muttered Mr. Broad to himself, as he stepped into the street, "this business is horrible. I feel almost as if I were committing some terrible crime. But, after all, it will be a warning to him. Some men would have him packed off to jail, and then he could never hold his head up again." He pulled out his watch and looked at the time. "I’ll just run down and have a gossip at the club," said he. "I feel as nervous as if I had robbed the till myself.—-Bless my soul, boy, why don’t you look where you are going?" "Awfully sorry, sir," said the boy, who was no other than our lively friend, Dick Boden. "I hope you aren’t hurt?" "No; but you startled me. You might have been a policeman, you know, or—or—Dear me, my nerves are in an extraordinary state!" "Funny old gent," thought Dick; and then, stealing a second look at him, he said to himself, "Why, it’s Mr. Broad. It’s no use waiting for Jim, then. He has to mind the shop."