Two days later Dean and his employer reached a small town in Iowa which we will call Clifton. They passed the night at the American Hotel, and occupied a room with two beds. Kirby rose first in the morning, and went out, leaving Dean asleep.

When the boy awoke he rose and dressed himself. He was putting on his coat when he noticed an open letter addressed to Kirby which had fallen on the floor. Dean picked it up, and was about to put it away to return to Kirby, when his eye caught the postmark "Waterford" and the signature Renwick Bates.

Though under ordinary circumstances Dean would not have felt justified in reading a letter not addressed to himself, the peculiar circumstances, and the suspicion he entertained relative to the share these two men probably had in the robbery of his uncle, decided him to take advantage of the opportunity which presented itself to him of acquiring some information on the subject.

This was the letter which Dean read with an interest that may be imagined:

Friend Kirby:

I have not received the government bonds which you purchased with the bills I gave you to dispose of. How did you send them? I cannot understand how such a package could have miscarried if properly addressed and forwarded with suitable precautions. I shall hold you responsible for them, and say emphatically that I regard the failure to reach me as something strange and mysterious. I do not like to express distrust, but I require you to send me the receipt of the express company to whom you committed the package.

In regard to the boy Dean you understand my wishes. I don't wish him to return to Waterford. It will be easy to get him into trouble at such a distance from home that he will find it hard to get back. You can write me a letter which I can show at my discretion to his friends, which will discredit any stories he may invent about you or myself.

Renwick Bates.

Dean read this letter with eager interest. He felt that it would be a formidable proof against Squire Bates, and he carefully concealed it in his inside vest pocket.

"So Mr. Kirby means to get me into trouble," he soliloquized. "I shall have to be on my guard."

Dean went below and took breakfast, not being in the habit of waiting for his employer. Mr. Kirby entered the breakfast-room as he was leaving it.

"We take the ten o'clock train," he said briefly. "Don't leave the hotel."

"All right, sir, I'll stay in the office."

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."

Meanwhile Dean, with flushed and angry countenance, looked from one face to another, but everywhere he met looks of distrust. It was clear that the majority of the passengers believed him guilty. He understood now the nature of the plot against him, and the letter in his pocket would be a sufficient proof of it. But he did not wish to produce it. He chose rather to keep it on account of the evidence which it contained against Squire Bates.

"What shall you do about it?" asked the old gentleman, who seemed to feel particularly hostile against Dean.

"I don't know," answered Kirby hesitating.

"The boy ought to be punished. If it were my case, I would have him arrested."

"No, I don't care to do that. He belongs to a respectable family."

"Surely you won't keep him in your employ?"

"No, I shall feel compelled to discharge him. Dean, you can leave the car at the next station. You are no longer in my employ. For the sake of your uncle and aunt, I shall not have you arrested, but I must decline to employ you any longer."

"Very well, sir!" answered Dean. "If you will pay me what you owe me for services, I will leave you."

"Pay you what I owe you!" replied Kirby, as if surprised.

"Yes, sir; you promised me twenty-five dollars per month, and I have been with you three weeks."

"You have received money from me at different times, and I owe you nothing. Besides, the jewelry which you have taken will amount to more than your wages."

"Mr. Kirby, I have taken no jewelry, and you know it."

"How can you tolerate the boy's impudence?" said the old man.

Kirby shrugged his shoulders.

"I have been very much deceived in him," he answered, "but I cherish no revengeful feelings. I hope he may see the error of his ways, and resolve to lead an honest life."

"You are too merciful, sir."

"It may be so, but he is young, and there is hope of his repentance."

"Mr. Kirby, do I understand that you wish me to leave you?" asked Dean.

"Yes. You had better get out at the next station. Here is a dollar. I don't want to leave you altogether penniless. Of course I must report what has happened to Squire Bates, who stood sponsor to you."

The train began to slow up, for the next station was near at hand.

"I don't want the dollar," said Dean. "I understand your object in accusing me of theft. I could clear myself now if I chose, but I am willing to wait."

Dean rose from his seat, and with flushed cheeks and head erect walked to the end of the car, and stepped out on the platform. He stood there, and watched the departure of the train, bearing his late employer farther West. He did not even know the name of the station at which he had disembarked.