“It must have been somebody in the house.  Suppose we go and see Mrs. Mooney.  She may know whether anybody came into our room to-day.”

The two boys went downstairs, and knocked at the door of a little back sitting-room where Mrs. Mooney generally spent her evenings.  It was a shabby little room, with a threadbare carpet on the floor, the walls covered with a certain large-figured paper, patches of which had been stripped off here and there, exposing the plaster, the remainder being defaced by dirt and grease.  But Mrs. Mooney had one of those comfortable temperaments which are tolerant of dirt, and didn’t mind it in the least.  She was seated beside a small pine work-table, industriously engaged in mending stockings.

“Good-evening, Mrs. Mooney,” said Fosdick, politely.

“Good-evening,” said the landlady.  “Sit down, if you can find chairs.  I’m hard at work as you see, but a poor lone widder can’t afford to be idle.”

“We can’t stop long, Mrs. Mooney, but my friend here has had something taken from his room to-day, and we thought we’d come and see you about it.”

“What is it?” asked the landlady.  “You don’t think I’d take anything?  If I am poor, it’s an honest name I’ve always had, as all my lodgers can testify.”

“Certainly not, Mrs. Mooney; but there are others in the house that may not be honest.  My friend has lost his bank-book.  It was safe in the drawer this morning, but to-night it is not to be found.”

“How much money was there in it?” asked Mrs. Mooney.

“Over a hundred dollars,” said Fosdick.

“It was my whole fortun’,” said Dick.  “I was goin’ to buy a house next year.”

Mrs. Mooney was evidently surprised to learn the extent of Dick’s wealth, and was disposed to regard him with increased respect.

“Was the drawer locked?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then it couldn’t have been Bridget.  I don’t think she has any keys.”

“She wouldn’t know what a bank-book was,” said Fosdick.  “You didn’t see any of the lodgers go into our room to-day, did you?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if it was Jim Travis,” said Mrs. Mooney, suddenly.

This James Travis was a bar-tender in a low groggery in Mulberry Street, and had been for a few weeks an inmate of Mrs. Mooney’s lodging-house.  He was a coarse-looking fellow who, from his appearance, evidently patronized liberally the liquor he dealt out to others.  He occupied a room opposite Dick’s, and was often heard by the two boys reeling upstairs in a state of intoxication, uttering shocking oaths.

This Travis had made several friendly overtures to Dick and his room-mate, and had invited them to call round at the bar-room where he tended, and take something.  But this invitation had never been accepted, partly because the boys were better engaged in the evening, and partly because neither of them had taken a fancy to Mr. Travis; which certainly was not strange, for nature had not gifted him with many charms, either of personal appearance or manners.  The rejection of his friendly proffers had caused him to take a dislike to Dick and Henry, whom he considered stiff and unsocial.