"Where is the money?" said Quincy.

"It is down in my old room, No. 24, one flight down from here, at the other end of the hallway. I have got a key that will open the door. I made it myself. I nearly got in there the other day, but they caught me before I had a chance to open the door. If you can get in there take up the fourth brick from the window, second row from the front of the fireplace, and you will find the bonds in an old leather wallet. What time is it?" he asked quickly.

"Half-past eleven," replied Quincy.

"Now is your time," said the man; "all the hands have their dinner from half-past eleven to twelve; at twelve they feed us; take this key, and if you get the money, for G.o.d's sake come around to-morrow and let me know. I sha'n't sleep a wink till I hear from you."

Quincy pressed the sick man's hand and left the room. He went downstairs on tiptoe and quickly reached room No. 24. He listened; all was quiet; it took but an instant to open the door, and, slipping quietly in, he locked it after him. With some difficulty he found the wallet, looked inside and saw five one thousand dollar United States bonds. He put the wallet in his pocket, replaced the brick, and listened at the door; all was quiet. He unlocked it, slipped out, locked it, and was retracing his steps, when he saw Sam coming upstairs at the other end of the hallway.

"I think I took the wrong turn," said Quincy. "I thought I came up that way."

"No," said Sam; "that's the back way."

"Thank you," said Quincy, as he ran lightly downstairs. At the foot he met Mr. Waters.

"Well, is he any relative of yours?" asked Waters.

"I don't know yet," replied Quincy; "he has given me some facts, and I am going to write to Boston, and when I hear from there I will be able to answer your question. I will come around in a few days, as soon as I hear from the city."

Quincy jumped into his team and drove to Eastborough Centre post office to see if there were any letters for him.

When he reached the post office he found a letter from his father, informing him his mother and sisters were going to New York for a two weeks' visit and would very much like to see him if he would run up the next day.

Quincy's mind was made up instantly. He drove to the hotel, left the team, with instructions to have it ready for him when he came down on the express that reached Eastborough Centre at 7.15 P.M., ran for the station and caught on to the back platform of the last car as it sped on its way to Boston.

Arriving there, he first took a hasty lunch, then hiring a coupe by the hour, drove to his bank on State Street. Here he left the bonds with instructions to write to Eastborough Centre the amount realized from them and pa.s.sed to the credit of his account.

His next trip was to his father's house on Beacon Street, where he found his mother and sisters. They were overjoyed to see him, and his younger sister declared that he had grown better looking since he went away. She wanted to know if he had fallen in love with a country girl. Quincy replied that his heart was still free and if it wasn't for the law he would have her for his wife, and no one else. Maude laughed and slapped him.

He next rode to his father's office on Court Street. The Hon. Nathaniel had just lunched at Parker's and was enjoying a good cigar when his son came in.

Quincy told him that the Jim Sawyer at Eastborough Poorhouse was unquestionably their missing relative.

"Poor Jim," said Nathaniel; "I ought to go and see him."

"No; I wouldn't," said Quincy, "it will do no good, and his remorse is deep enough now without adding to it."

He then told his father about the money, and the latter agreed that Jim's idea was right and Quincy had best use the money as though it were his own.

"By the by," said his father, wheeling round in his office chair, "that Miss Putnam from Eastborough is a very pretty girl; don't you think so, Quincy?"

"Handsome is as handsome does," thought Quincy to himself, but he only said, "Where did you see her?"

"She was in here to-day," replied his father. "She said she had $25,000 to invest, and that you gave her the address of some broker, but that she had forgotten it."

"Her statement is partially true," said Quincy, "but not complete. I gave her three addresses, because I did not wish to recommend any particular one. I wished her to make her own choice."

"I was not so conservative," remarked his father. "I advised her to go to Foss & Follansbee and even suggested that Quinnebaug Copper Company was one of the most promising investments before the public to-day."

"Did she confide in you any farther," said Quincy.

"Oh, yes," replied his father; "I gleaned she was worth $100,000 and that her parents, who were very old people, had nearly as much more. I remember her brother, J. Jones Putnam. He was a 'plunger,' and a successful one. He died suddenly of lung fever, I believe."

Quincy smiled.

"She seemed to be well educated," his father continued, "and told me that you and she sang together at a concert."

"Did she tell you what her father's religion was?" inquired Quincy.

"You don't seem to admire this young lady, Quincy. I thought she would be likely to be a great friend of yours. You might do worse than--"

"I know," said Quincy, "she is pretty, well educated, musical, very tasteful in dress, and has money, but she can't have me. But how did it end?" asked he; "how did you get rid of her?"

"Well," replied his father, "as I said before, I thought she must be a great friend of yours, and perhaps more, so I went down to Foss & Follansbee's with her; then we went to Parker's to lunch, then I sent her to the station in a coupe."

"I am greatly obliged to you, father," said Quincy, "for the kind attentions you paid her. I shall get the full credit of them down in Eastborough; your name will not be mentioned; only," said Quincy with a laugh, "if she is coming to the city very often I think perhaps I had better come back to Boston and look after mother's interests."

The Hon. Nathaniel was nettled by this and said sternly, "I do not like that sort of pleasantry, Quincy."

"Neither do I," said Quincy coolly, "and I hope there will be no further occasion for it."

"How long do you intend to remain in Eastborough?" asked his father.

"I don't know," replied Quincy. "I can't come home while Uncle Jim is sick, of course. I will ask him if he would like to see you, and if he says yes, I will telegraph you. Well, good-by. I was up to the house and saw mother and the girls. I am going up to the club to see if I can meet some of the boys and have some dinner, and I shall go down on the 6.05 express."

Quincy lighted a cigar, shook hands rather stiffly with his father and left the office.

When Quincy reached the Pettengill house it was a little after eight o'clock. Hiram came out to help him put up the horse. "Anybody up?"

asked Quincy.

"Only Mandy and me," said Hiram. "Uncle Ike is up in his attic, and 'Zeke is up talkin' to his sister, and Mandy and me has been talkin' to each other; and, say, Mr. Sawyer, did you meet Lindy Putnam up in Boston to-day?"

"No," said Quincy between his shut teeth.

"Well, that's funny," said Hiram; "I heard Abner Stiles telling Strout as how Miss Putnam told him that Mr. Sawyer had been to the banker's with her to invest her money, and that Mr. Sawyer took her out to lunch and then rode down to the station in a carriage and put her aboard the train."

"There are a great many Mr. Sawyers in Boston, you must remember, Hiram," remarked Quincy. "Anything else, Hiram?"

"Well, not much more," replied Hiram; "but Strout said that if you got Lindy and her money and then cajoled the old couple into leavin' their money to you, that it would be the best game of bunco that had ever been played in Eastborough."

"Well, Strout ought to know what a good bunco game is," said Quincy.

"Have the horse ready by nine o'clock in the morning if you can get over. Good night, Hiram," he said.

He pa.s.sed through the kitchen, saying good night to Mandy, and went straight to his own room. He sat and thought for an hour, going over the events of the day.

"As soon as Uncle Jim is dead and buried," said he to himself, "I think I will leave this town. As the children say when they play 'hide and go seek,' I am getting warm."