“No.”

“Why not?” demanded Morrison, with a frown.

“There was something wrong about the bonds you gave me to sell.”

“Weren’t they all right?  They weren’t counterfeit, were they?”

“They were genuine, but—–­”

“But what?”

“A lady claims that they belong to her—­that they were stolen from her.  Of course you can explain how they came into your hands?”

“They were given me by a party that owed me money.  If he’s played a trick on me, it will be the worse for him.  Did you sell them?”

“Yes.”

“Then give me the money.”

“Mr. Reynolds won’t let me.”

“Does he think I took the bonds?” asked Morrison, hastily.

“No, he doesn’t,” answered Grant, proudly, “but he would like to have an interview with you, and make some inquiries, so that he may form some idea as to the person who did take them.  They belonged to his housekeeper, Mrs. Estabrook, who is the stepmother of Mr. Ford, a young man employed in our office.”

Tom Calder and Jim Morrison exchanged glances.  Grant’s story agreed with Ford’s, and tended to confirm their confidence in his good faith.

“When does he want to see me?” asked Morrison.

“Can you call at his house this evening at eight o’clock?”

“Where does he live?”

Grant mentioned the street and number.

“I will be there,” he said, briefly.

“Can I come, too?” asked Tom Calder, addressing the question to Grant.

“There will be no objection, I think.”

“Tell him we’ll be on hand.”

The three left the hotel together, Grant taking a Broadway stage at the door.  The quiet man seemed no longer interested in the Boston Journal, for he hung it up in its place, and sauntered out of the hotel.  He had not attracted the attention of Jim Morrison or Tom.

When Grant entered the office, and with his usual manner asked Ford if he should go to the post-office, the young man eyed him curiously.

“Are you to remain in the office?” he said.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“After what you have done?”

“What have I done, Mr. Ford?” asked Grant, eyeing the young man, steadily.

“I don’t think you need to have me tell you,” he said, with a sneer.  “I don’t think Mr. Reynolds is very prudent to employ a boy convicted of dishonesty.”

“Do you believe me guilty, Mr. Ford?” asked our hero, calmly.

“The evidence against you is overwhelming.  My mother ought to have you arrested.”

“The person who stole the bonds may be arrested.”

“What do you mean?” asked Willis Ford, flushing, and looking disconcerted.

“I mean that I have no concern in the matter.  Shall I go to the post-office?”

“Yes,” snapped Ford, “and take care you don’t steal any of the letters.”

Grant did not reply.  He knew that his vindication was certain, and he was willing to wait.