It struck Grant as strange that his fellow waiter, though he received five dollars a day, never seemed to have any money on hand. More than once he had borrowed a couple of dollars of Grant, which, however, he always repaid.

“What can he do with his money?” thought Grant. “He gets very little chance to spend it, for he is confined in the restaurant from twelve to fourteen hours a day.”

The mystery was solved when, one night, he saw Benton entering a notorious gambling saloon not far from the restaurant.

“So that is where he disposes of his money,” reflected Grant. “I wish I could venture to give him a hint. But probably he would pay it no attention, as I am a boy considerably younger than he.”

He did, however, find occasion for speaking soon afterward.

“Have you ever been to the mines, Mr. Benton?” he asked.

“No.”

“Don’t you ever expect to go?”

“I would go in a minute if I had money enough.”

“I should think you might save money enough in a month or two. You get good pay.”

“It’s tiresome saving from one’s daily pay. I want to make a strike. Some day I shall. I might win five hundred dollars in the next week. When I do I’ll bid the old man good-by, and set out for the mines.”

“I believe in saving. A friend of mine, now in San Francisco, warned me to keep clear of the gambling-houses, and I would be sure to get on.”

Albert Benton regarded Grant suspiciously.

“Does the boy know I gamble, I wonder?” he said to himself.

“Your friend’s an old fogy,” he said, contemptuously.

“Don’t you think his advice good?”

“Well, yes; I don’t believe in gambling to any extent, but I have been in once or twice. It did me no harm.”

If he had told the truth, he would have said that he went to the gambling-house nearly every evening.

“It’s safest to keep away, I think.”

“Well, yes, perhaps it is, for a kid like you.”

No more was said at the time. But something happened soon which involved both Benton and his associate.

Mr. Smithson, the proprietor, began to find that his receipts fell off. This puzzled him, for it appeared to him that the restaurant was doing as good a business as ever. He mentioned the matter to the senior waiter.

“Benton,” said he, “last week I took in fifty dollars less than usual.”

“Is that so?” asked Benton indifferently.

“Yes; I can’t understand it. Has the trade fallen off any, do you think?”

“Really, I can’t say. It seemed about the same as usual—that is, the number of customers did.”

“So it seemed to me.”

“Perhaps they ordered less. Now I think of it, I feel sure that they did.”

“That might explain it partially, but not so large a falling off.”

“I suppose you haven’t thought of any other solution of the question?” said Benton, slowly scrutinizing the face of his employer.

“Have you?”

“Well, sir, I have, but I don’t like to mention it.”

“Out with it!”

“I don’t know anything, sir.”

“If you suspect anything, it’s your duty to tell me.”

“Well, perhaps it is, but I might be doing injustice to Grant.”

“Ha! what has Grant to do with it?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Good Heavens, man, don’t tantalize me in this way. What do you suspect?”

“Well, sir, the boy always appears to have money.”

“He seems to be economical, and I pay him well. That counts for nothing.”

“No, sir, but—some one told me that he had seen him entering a gambling-house on the street.”

“Ha! that would account for his needing a good deal of money. By the way, do you ever enter such places?”

“I have entered out of curiosity, sir,” answered Benton, with a burst of candor. “I wanted to see what they were like.”

“Better keep out of them altogether.”

“No doubt you are right, sir.”

“But about the boy—have you ever seen him take anything from the drawer?”

“I couldn’t be sure of it, but once when he was alone I entered suddenly, and saw him near the drawer. He flushed up and came away in a hurry. I couldn’t swear that he took anything.”

However, Benton’s tone implied that he felt sure of it all the same, and so it impressed Mr. Smithson.

“Did you have any recommendations with Grant?” inquired Benton, in an insinuating tone.

“No; but, then, I had none with you, either.”

“That is true. Still, I hope you have confidence in me.”

“I know of no reason why I should not. Do you know if Grant drinks?”

“I don’t think he drinks much.”

“Does he drink at all?” asked Smithson curtly.

“One evening I saw him coming out of a drinking saloon pretty well loaded. That is the only time, however.”

“It was once too often. Benton, I have been greatly deceived in that fellow. I thought him a model boy.”

“So did I, sir, and I don’t think he is very bad now. Perhaps he has been a little indiscreet.”

“It is very kind of you to excuse him; but if what you say is true, I shall not be able to retain him in my employment.”

“Give him a little more time. Remember that I know nothing positive to his discredit. He may not have taken the money.”

This half-hearted defence of Grant led Mr. Smithson to think that Benton was his friend and spoke against him unwillingly. It never occurred to him that his senior waiter was only seeking to divert suspicion from himself.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll keep him on a week longer. Perhaps something may occur in that time to confirm my suspicions or discredit them.”

The result of this conversation was that the restaurant keeper was all but convinced that Grant was a sly young villain and was secretly robbing him. He had a friend, however, who had once been a detective in St. Louis, though now engaged in a different business in Sacramento.

He sought him out and told him the story.

Vincent listened attentively.

“It looks bad for the boy; don’t you think so?” Smithson asked.

“Yes, if all is true that is said against him. But who says it?”

“Albert Benton.”

“The old waiter?”

“Yes.”

“You have never yourself seen the boy drunk, or coming out of a gambling-house?”

“No.”

“Then all the testimony to that effect is that of the man Benton?”

“Yes.”

“May not Benton have an object in slandering the boy?”

“He seemed very reluctant to say anything against him.”

“That may be all artfulness, and to divert suspicion from himself.”

“You surely don’t think he would rob me?”

“Why not?”

“He has been in my employ for a year.”

“Then he ought by this time to have a good deal of money saved up—that is, if his habits are good.”

“I am sure he has not.”

“What evidence have you on the subject?”

“At one time, three months since, I thought of selling out the restaurant, and asked Benton if he didn’t want to buy it.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“That he hadn’t got fifty dollars in the world.”

“How much do you pay him?”

“Five dollars a day and his board.”

“Whew! and he spends all that?”

“He seems to.”

“Look here, Smithson, you are on the wrong tack. He is the thief, and not the boy.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Leave the matter in my hands, and I will prove it to you.”

“How!”

“I shall follow Benton in the evening, and see how he spends his time and money. But you must be careful not to let him know that he is suspected. If anything is said of the disappearance of money, tell him that you attribute it to decrease in trade.”

“All right; I will do as you suggest.”

“He doesn’t know me, and will not imagine that I am watching him.”

Two days later Albert Benton, a little anxious to know whether he had himself eluded suspicion, asked his employer: “Have you found out anything about the lost money?”

“I am not sure that any has been lost,” answered Smithson carelessly.

“Have you watched the boy?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t look to me like a thief. It may be, after all, that we are doing less business.”

“Yes, sir; that’s very likely,” responded Benton, glad that his employer was disposed to regard the matter from this point of view.

“I don’t like to think that any one in my employ would rob me.”

“Very true, sir. It would be a great shame.”

“It’s all right!” thought Benton complacently. “It is better so. I don’t care to have the boy discharged. Some one might succeed him whom I couldn’t hoodwink so easily.”