As Jim walked home to his dinner he became pensive. He was under a kind of pledge to his own hatred and to Mrs. Furze to produce something against Tom, and he had nothing. Even he could see that to make up a charge would not be safe. It required more skill than he possessed. The opportunity, however, very soon came. Destiny delights in offering to the wicked chances of damning themselves. It was a few days before the end of the quarter. The builder—in whose service Jim’s brother, Joe, was—sent Joe to pay a small account for ironmongery, which had been due for some weeks. When he entered the shop Tom was behind his desk, and Jim was taking some instructions about a job. Mr. Furze was out. Joe produced his bill, threw it across to Tom, and pulled the money out of his pocket. It was also market day; the town was crowded, and just at that moment Mr. Eaton drove by. Tom looked out of the window on his left hand and saw the horse shy at something in the cattle pens, pitching Mr. Eaton out. Without saying a word he rushed round the counter and out into the street, the two men, who had not seen the accident, thinking he had gone to speak to Mr. Eaton. He was absent some minutes.

“A nice sort of a chap, this,” said Jim; “he’s signed your bill, and he ain’t got the money.”

“S’pose I must wait, then.”

“Look ’ere, Joe: don’t you be a b---y fool! You take your account. If he writes his name afore he’s paid, that’s his look-out.”

Joe hesitated.

“Wot are you a-starin’ at? You’ve got the receipt, ain’t yer? Isn’t that enough? You ain’t a-robbin’ of him, for you never giv him the money, and I tell yer agin as he’s the one as ought to lose if he don’t look sharp arter people. That’s square enough, ain’t it?”

Joe had a remarkably open mind to reasoning of this description, and, without another word, he took up the bill and was off. Jim also thought it better to return to the foundry. Mr. Eaton, happily, was not injured, for he fell on a truss of straw, but the excitement was great; and, when Tom returned, Joe’s visit completely went out of his head, and did not occur to him again, for two or three customers were waiting for him, and, as already observed, it was market day.

Now, it was Mr. Furze’s practice always to make out his accounts himself. It was a pure waste of time, for he would have been much better employed in looking after his men, and any boy could have transcribed his ledger. But no, it was characteristic of the man that he preferred this occupation—that he took the utmost pains to write his best copybook hand, and to rule red-ink lines with mathematical accuracy. Two days after the quarter a bill went to the builder, beginning, “To account delivered.” The builder was astonished, and instantly posted down to the shop, receipt in hand, signed, “For J. Furze, T. C.” Mr. Furze looked at his ledger again, called for the day-book, found no entry, and then sent for Tom. The history of that afternoon flashed across him in an instant.

“That’s your signature, Mr. Catchpole,” said Mr. Furze.

“Yes, sir.”

“But here’s no entry in the day-book, and, what’s more, there weren’t thirty shillings that night in the till.”

“I cannot account for it, unless I signed the receipt before I had the money. It was just when Mr. Eaton’s accident happened, and I ran out of the shop while Joe was waiting. When I came back he had gone.”

“Which is as much as to say,” said the builder, “that Joe’s a thief. You’d better be careful, young man.”

“Well, Mr. Humphries,” said Mr. Furze, loftily, “we will not detain you: there is clearly a mistake somewhere; we will credit you at once with the amount due for the previous quarter, and if you will give me your account I will correct it now.”

Mr. Furze took it, and ruled through the first line, altering the total.

“This is very unpleasant, Mr. Catchpole,” observed Mr. Furze, after the builder had departed. “Was there anybody in the shop besides yourself and Joe?”

“Jim was there.”

Mr. Furze rang a bell, and Jim presently appeared. “Jim, were you in the shop when your brother came to pay Mr. Humphries’ bill about a week ago?”

“I wor.”

“Did he pay it? did you see him hand over the money?”

“I did, and Mr. Catchpole took it and put it in the till. I see’d it go in with my own eyes.”

“Well, what happened then?”

“He locked the till all in a hurry, put the key in his waistcoat pocket; let me see, it wor in his left-hand pocket—no, wot am I a-sayin’?—it wor in his right-hand pocket—I want to be particklar, Mr. Furze—and then he run out of the shop. Joe, he took up his receipt, and he says, says he, ‘He might a given me the odd penny,’ and says I, ‘He ain’t Mr. Furze, he can’t give away none of the guvnor’s money. If it wor the guvnor himself he’d a done it,’ and with that we went out of the shop together.”

“That will do, Jim; you can go.”

“Mr. Catchpole, this assumes a very—I may say—painful aspect.”

“I can only repeat, sir, that I have not had the money. It is inexplicable. I may have been robbed.”

“But there is no entry in the day-book.”

It did not occur to Tom at the moment to plead that if he was dishonest he would have contrived not to be so in such a singularly silly fashion: that he might have taken cash paid for goods bought, and that the possibility of discovery would have been much smaller. He was stunned.

“It is so painful,” continued Mr. Furze, “that I must have time to reflect. I will talk to you again about it to-morrow.”

The truth was that Mr. Furze wished to consult his wife. When he went home his first news was what had happened, but he forgot to mention the corroboration by Jim.

“But,” said Mrs. Furze, “Joe may have been mistaken; perhaps, after all, he did not pay the money.”

“Ah! but Jim was in the shop at the time. I had Jim in, and he swears that he saw Joe give it to Tom, and that Tom put it in the till.”

Mrs. Furze seemed a little uncomfortable, but she soon recovered.

“We ought to have proof beyond all doubt of Tom’s dishonesty. I do not see that this is proof. At any rate, it would not satisfy Catharine. I should wait a month. It is of no use making two faces about this business; we must take one line or the other. I should tell him that, on reconsideration, you cannot bring yourself to suspect him; that you have perfect confidence in him, and that there must be some mistake somewhere, though you cannot at present see how. That will throw him off his guard.”

Mr. Furze acknowledged the superiority of his wife’s intellect and obeyed. Tom came to work on the following morning in a state of great excitement, and with an offer of restitution, but was appeased, and Orkid Jim, appearing in the shop, was astonished and dismayed to find Tom and his master on the same footing as before. He went up to the Terrace, the excuse being that he called to see how the new boiler was going on. Phoebe came to the door, but he wanted to see the mistress.

“What do you want her for? She knows nothing about the boiler. It is all right, I tell you.”

“Never you mind. It wor she as give me the directions, worn’t it, when I was ’ere afore?”

Accordingly the mistress appeared, and Phoebe, remaining in the kitchen, was sent upstairs upon some important business, much cogitating upon the unusual interest Mrs. Furze took in the kitchen range, and the evident desire on her part that her instructions to Jim should be private.

“Well, Jim, the boiler is all right.”

“That’s more nor some things are.”

“Why, what has happened?”

“I s’pose you know. Joe paid Humphries’ bill, and Mr. Catchpole swears he never had the money, but Joe’s got his receipt.”

“You were in the shop and saw it paid?”

“Of course I was. I s’pose you heerd that too?”

“Yes. We do not think, however, that the case is clear, and we shall do nothing this time.”

“I don’t know wot you’d ’ave, Mrs. Furze. If this ere ain’t worth the five shillin’ yer gave me, nothin’ is—that’s all I’ve got to say.”

“But, Jim, you must see we cannot do anything unless the proof is complete. Now, if there should happen to be a second instance, that would be a different thing altogether.”

“It ain’t very comfortable for me.”

“What do you mean? Mr. Furze sent for you, and you told him what you saw with your own eyes.”

“Ah! you’d better mind wot you’re sayin’, Mrs. Furze, and you needn’t put it in that way. Jist you look ’ere: I ain’t very particklar myself, I ain’t, but it may come to takin’ my oath, and, to tell yer the truth, five shillin’ don’t pay me.”

“But we are not going to prosecute.”

“No, not now, but you may, and I shall have to stick to it, and maybe have to be brought up. Besides, it was put straight to me by the guvnor and Mr. Tom was there a-lookin’ at me right in my face. As I say, five shillin’ don’t pay me.”

“Well, we shall not let the matter drop. We shall keep our eyes open: you may be sure of that, Jim. I dare say you have been worried over the business. Here’s another five shillings for you.”

Again Jim refrained from thanking her, but slowly put on his cap and left the house.