"Mr. Benton knows me! It is strange I can't recall him," said Mr.

Brief, trying to recollect.

"I think you will remember when you see him."

"Possibly; but I have no recollection on any gentleman of that name."

Ben and his uncle--to give him a name not strictly warranted by facts--occupied two rooms adjoining.

Ben ushered the lawyer into his own room, saying, "Mr. Brief, you must prepare for a surprise."

When, however, the so-called Marcus Benton entered the room, Mr. Brief sprang to his feet in great amazement.

"Can I believe my eyes?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"I think you can, Mr. Brief," said the old gentleman quietly,

"You are Matthew Baldwin."

"Precisely."

"And you are not dead?"

"Do I look as if I were?" asked Mr. Baldwin, smiling.

"What does it all mean?" asked Mr. Brief, bewildered.

"It means that I wished to try John Tremlett. I wished to ascertain whether he were worthy to inherit my fortune. What is your opinion?"

"My opinion," said the lawyer, "is that he would run through the property in five years. I am disgusted with him."

"How does he spend his money?" inquired Mr. Baldwin.

"In every kind of extravagance and every form of dissipation. At the rate he is going on, it is a question, in my mind, whether he or the property would last longer."

"I got that idea from my young friend here, who, by the way, knew of me only as Marcus Benton when he came first to see you."

"Of course you will resume possession of the property, Mr.

Baldwin?"

"Such is my intention."

"I can give it back into your hands entire, with the exception of nine hundred dollars drawn by Tremlett, and your funeral expenses."

"My funeral expense!" exclaimed Mr. Baldwin, in surprise.

"Yes; a body was found in the St. Lawrence, which was supposed to be yours. It was buried with proper ceremony."

The old man smiled, but there was a certain sadness in the smile.

"It is, perhaps, only antic.i.p.ating things a little," he said. "The expenses shall be allowed."

"Of course you wish Mr. Tremlett to be informed without delay."

"Yes."

"He is to come to my office in an hour."

"Can you let me witness the interview?"

"Yes, sir. You can conceal yourself in the inner room, and I will see him in the outer office, with the door ajar."

An hour later John Tremlett swaggered into Mr. Brief's office.

"Brief," said he, "I must have some money."

"Have you used up the hundred dollars I gave you four days since?"

"Every cent."

"I am afraid you squandered it."

"That is my business, Brief."

"You remember the warning I gave you at that time?"

"Come, Brief, you can't expect to keep me in leading-strings. I am seeing life, and of course I must pay for it."

"A pretty round sum, too."

"Oh, well, I am making up for lost time. Old Baldwin kept me so close that I had to live like a hermit for years. He starved me on eight hundred dollars a year--the stingy old file!"

"Apparently you want to live at the rate of ten thousand dollars a year now, Mr. Tremlett."

"Well, I can afford it for a year or two."

"You seem to forget that your income for the first year is not quite five thousand."

"Then my creditors must wait, I am going to have my fling."

"It would make Mr. Baldwin turn in his coffin if he were to know how you are wasting his substance."

"Very likely it would," said Tremlett, laughing heartily; "but there's one comfort, he can't come back to trouble us."

"Don't be too sure of that, John Tremlett," said a voice which struck terror to Tremlett's heart, and Mathew Baldwin walked out of the inner office.

The young man's face turned as pale as ashes, and his knees knocked together in his fright.

"Is it--you--Mr. Baldwin?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.