“I say, Waldo, you’re a cool, calculating fellow!” Thompson was about to use another word, but checked himself. “I wouldn’t like to stand in your way.” “Nonsense! I only want to do what is right.” “And it very conveniently happens that you consider right what is to your interest. I say, have you any idea how the boy came to disappear?” “Of course not! How should I?” answered Waldo uneasily. “I don’t know, but as he stood in your way, I thought----” “You think too much,” said Waldo. “Oh, I don’t mean to censure you. I suppose if I had been in your place I might have been tempted.” “I know nothing about the boy’s disappearance,” said Waldo hastily; “but let us drop that. I sent for you because I saw that you could serve me.” “Go on; if there’s money in it, I am your man.” “I shall pay you, of course; that is, I will pay you fairly. We will speak of that hereafter.” “What do you want me to do? Is there anybody you want to disappear?” “Hush! You go too far, sir. I want to find out the whereabouts of Gilbert Huet. It is important for me to know where he is.” “Can you give me a clew?” “If I could I should not need to employ you. Come up to my room and I will communicate further with you.” The two left the reading room and Robert was left to digest the important information he had received. “What a rascal that man is!” he reflected. “After stealing Mr. Huet’s boy, he wants to put him in a madhouse. I must let him know, so that he may be on his guard. I don’t believe they will think of looking for him at Cook’s Harbor.” By a curious coincidence the room assigned to Robert was next to that occupied by Mr. Waldo, and when the boy was about entering it, some hours later, he saw the gentleman going in just ahead of him. As the latter placed one hand upon the door he drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket, and in so doing brought out a letter, which fell upon the floor, without his seeing it. Passing into his room, he slammed the door, leaving the missive lying in the hall. “It is a mean thing,” laughed Robert as he stooped down and picked it up, “to examine a letter not intended for me, but he is such a scamp that I’ll do it in this case, hoping to learn something that will help me find this poor boy.” And so, without any compunctions, Robert took the letter--which had been opened--into his room and read, with feelings which may possibly be imagined, the following letter: “DEAR SIR: I feel oblidged to rite to you about the boy I took from you. You told me he would work enough to pay for his keep, and did not want to pay me anything for my trubble. Now, Mr. Waldo, you are mistaken. The boy ain’t tuff nor strong, and I can’t got more’n half as much work out of him as I ought. He don’t eat much, I kno, but the fact is I need a good strong boy, and I shall have to git another, and have two to feed, if things go on so.