“Waiting for him? Wallet? Ah, yes, I see. How I wish Judge Danvers were here! John, go over for the judge at once. Tell him I want to see him immediately. Show Mr. Wallet in.” “In here, sir?” “Yes, right away. Say to the judge it’s very important.” Dr. Manning, on advice of his counsel, had kept his loss of the night before, a secret from everybody but his wife, and the dignified porter had not the slightest idea of the tremendous meaning which might be lurking under the very simple name of the “cheeky” visitor. Whatever may have been the sort of human being which the doctor had pictured to himself as likely to come on such an errand, he was manifestly astonished when our hero was ushered into the library. “John” would have given something to have “fussed around” and learned a little more, but his master peremptorily hurried him off. He had asked Bar to be seated, almost mechanically, but, as the door closed on John, he turned to him again with, “Mr. Wallet?” “There I am,” said Bar, “all of me you care for, lying on the table.” There it was, sure enough, in all the glory of its Russia leather, and the good doctor drew a long sigh of relief as he picked it up. “Where could I have lost it?” he said to himself, aloud. “The judge is clearly wrong about it. May I ask where you found it, Mr.----” “Vernon,” said Bar. “The visitor you were waiting for was named Wallet. I’m only Barnaby Vernon. Please count your money, Doctor, and see that all the papers are there.” “Of course,” exclaimed the good doctor, “I’ve no doubt of that, my young friend; there is that in your face which assures me.” “No, Doctor,” said Bar, “that pocketbook kept me awake all night, for fear you might miss something when you opened it. Please count it over; I shan’t be easy till you do.” The boy’s face assumed a wonderfully earnest expression as he spoke, and the doctor looked at his fresh, yet strongly-marked young face most benevolently, as he replied: “I think the judge would say you are right. No man should let money go out of his hand without a receipt, he says.” “That’s what I’m waiting for,” said Bar. “Ah, yes, I remember,” said the doctor, as he drew the strap and began to turn over the contents of the wallet; “a receipt and something else.” Bar was silent, but Dr. Manning had now recovered his hitherto somewhat disturbed equilibrium, and he was now examining his recovered treasure as carefully as if he were noting the symptoms of a difficult “case,” and that is saying a good deal. “All there,” he said, at last. “Every paper. Every cent. Not a thing missing.” “Please make me out a receipt in full, then,” said Barnaby. “Receipt!” exclaimed the doctor, as he took up a pen and a scrap of paper. “Certainly. One of those thousand dollar bills is yours, too. There it is. But I wish you would tell me now where you found it.” “No, thank you,” said Bar. “I don’t wish any reward. Find it? Oh, no, Doctor, I stole it for you.” “Stole it?”