THE THEFT OF THE PAPER. Had Maurice Walton been a youth of strict honor, he could not have been induced to undertake the theft of the paper, however large the sum offered him. But his principles were not strict enough to interfere, and the hope of injuring Gilbert, whom he envied, and therefore hated, made him the more willing to engage in the enterprise. "A hundred dollars will be very acceptable," he said to himself, complacently. "They couldn't be more easily earned. Now, how shall I set about it?" Maurice came to the conclusion that Gilbert kept the paper in his trunk. This seemed to be the most natural depository to be selected. Of course, then, he must contrive some means of opening the trunk. He thought of pretending that he had lost the key of his own trunk, and asking Gilbert for the loan of his. But that would draw suspicion upon him when the paper was missed. Another plan, which he finally adopted, was to go to a locksmith, and ask for a variety of trunk keys, on the same pretext, in order to try, with the liberty of returning those that didn't suit. This, and other points necessary to success in his scheme, were determined upon by Maurice, and will be made known to the reader as he proceeds. A little before ten the next morning, Maurice left his place in the store, and, going to Mr. Ferguson, asked permission to go home. "For what reason?" asked his employer. "I have a terrible headache," said Maurice, looking as miserable as possible. "Certainly you may go," said Mr. Ferguson, who was a kind-hearted man, and who didn't doubt the statement. "If I feel better I will come back in the afternoon," said Maurice. "Don't come unless you feel able. I know what the headache is, and I don't want you to come, unless you feel quite able to attend to business." "Thank you, sir." "Now for business," said Maurice, as he found himself in the street. "I'll rest my poor head by a ride on the horse-cars." First, however, he entered a small shop near by, over which was a sign, M. FRINK, Locksmith. The locksmith, wearing a dirty apron, looked up from his work. "I have lost the key to my trunk," said Maurice. "I can make you another," said the locksmith. "I want to open it now. Haven't you got some already made?" "Plenty. But how will you know the size?" "Give me half a dozen to try, and I will bring back those that don't suit." "All right. Is your lock a large one?" "Not very. About medium," said Maurice, hazarding a guess. The locksmith picked out eight keys, of various sizes, and handed them to Maurice. "I will bring them back safe," said he. "All right. I don't think you'll run off with them." "Now for it," said Maurice. "I think one of these keys must fit."