It was perhaps somewhat rash to hazard a charge without proof, but he felt indignant and could not resist the impulse.

“I think that man has your purse,” he said, pointing to the individual behind the newspaper.

“This is an outrage!” exclaimed the latter, with assumed anger.  “I am a Boston merchant.”

He was respectably dressed, and the charge did not seem very plausible.

“My boy, you should be careful how you make such charges,” said his next neighbor, reprovingly.

But Andy was not abashed.

“I know something of that man,” he said, quietly.  “I have met him twice this morning.”

“Has he robbed you?”

“No; but he asked me to give him a quarter to take him to his sick sister in Yonkers.  This was at the Grand Central Depot; an hour or two later I met him on Broadway, and he wanted money to take him to Newark.”

“The boy is entirely mistaken,” said the adventurer.

At the same instant, under cover of the newspaper, he adroitly let the stolen purse drop to the floor at his feet.

By this time the cars had reached the Brooklyn end of the bridge.

“Why, there is your purse,” exclaimed the adventurer, with a sudden glance downward.  “You must have dropped it.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” said the poor woman, overjoyed.

“I hope you won’t suspect a gentleman again,” said the thief, in lofty indignation.

“No, I won’t, sir.  I was sure you didn’t take it.”

Andy, who had seen the trick, smiled, but he was satisfied with the recovery of the purse.

The passengers looked puzzled.  They had not made up their minds as to the guilt or innocence of the man charge with the theft.

“You see, young man,” said Andy’s neighbor, in a tone of reproof, “you were mistaken.”

Andy smiled again.

“I saw him drop the purse on the floor,” he answered, quietly.

“Bless my soul!  Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

The passengers left the car, Andy and the thief among them.

Andy lost track of his acquaintance till, as they reached Fulton Street, he heard some one hissing in his ear: 

“Boy, you are too fresh!  I’ll get even with you yet!”

Then the thief, passing him rapidly, got into a Myrtle Avenue car, and this was the last he saw of him for that day.

Andy walked about the streets of Brooklyn for a while and returned by Fulton Ferry.  Then he went back to his boarding place, arriving there between three and four o’clock.

As he went up to his room he noticed that the door of the large room opposite was open.  A young man, of about thirty, was sitting in a rocking-chair, reading.

He was of medium height and sallow complexion.  He wore his hair long, and had a high, narrow forehead.

“I suppose that is the man who has fits,” thought Andy.

The young man had noticed Andy’s entrance into his own room, and, rising from the rocking-chair, crossed the hall and knocked lightly at the door.