"The result would have been quite different if you had managed to hold on to it instead of dropping it in the street," replied Callister, crossly. "That's where the folly comes in. But come, we've wasted time enough in talking. Let us go up-stairs to the old man's chamber. I've an idea that the treasure is hidden somewhere about the hearth." He picked up the lantern and began to ascend the broad staircase leading to the rooms above. "So you've thought twenty times before, but could never find it," growled Tisdale, following. "Didn't you examine this blessed old rookery from garret to cellar, not over a year ago?" They ascended the stairs, and entered a large room at the rear of the house upon the floor above. Ruin and desolation met their gaze wherever the feeble rays of the lantern fell. Filled with rich and costly furniture, adorned with pictures, expensive cabinets, and rich hangings about the windows and doors, the chamber--once that of the master of the mansion--was a forcible illustration of the truth of that memorable warning against riches. Upon earth Jeremiah Mansfield had heaped up treasures. Moth and rust had corrupted--thieves had broken in to steal. The rich carpet, the elegant hangings were worn and faded, the costly furniture heaped up in the corners rotting with dampness and decay. From one side of the wall a large strip of heavy gilt had fallen away, green with mold, displaying the discolored plaster behind, dust covered the picture frames, the floor, the ceiling--in fact, everything in and about the room, and more than all the bedstead upon which the old miser had met his end. This cumbrous piece of mahogany, tilted forward into the room, from the lapse of one decaying leg, was a dust heap in itself. Tisdale looked about him shudderingly. "Lije, it's enough to give a man the horrors!" he mutteringly said. But the stock broker made no reply. That he was in this chilling apartment for work, not talk, was evident from every motion he made. Throwing aside his coat and hat, he placed the lantern by the side of the fire-place, and with a hammer and cold chisel, taken from the pockets of his overcoat, began to remove its back, brick by brick. "Hold the lantern, Rube," he whispered, as he struck upon the back of the fire-place with the hammer. "There is a hollow space back of this--don't you hear? I tell you, man, we've struck it at last!" Tisdale seized the lantern and stooped forward toward the fire-place, Callister ringing blow after blow upon the chisel, and prying out the bricks right and left. Suddenly the whole back of the fire-place fell inward with a crash, raising a cloud of dust which nearly blinded them both. Seizing the lantern from the hand of his companion, the broker thrust his head into the space revealed, a hollow in the chimney, large enough to hold a million in gold. It was empty! Save for the broken bricks and bits of mortar, the rays of the lantern shone upon empty space alone.