"He is," answered Paul, quietly, dropping his eyes upon his work, and not lifting them as he spoke; "Marcus, take this gentleman's card to your master." Silas was seated at his desk, a ledger open before him, and on the table by his side a large iron cash-box, the lid of which he dropped hurriedly as the young planter entered the office. The ledger contained the secret accounts of the transactions of the mysterious gambling-house in Columbia Street. The cash-box was nearly filled with bank notes, lost in that den of iniquity by the miserable and deluded votaries of the gambler's green cloth-covered altar. Silas closed the ledger, which was secured with massive brass locks, the key of which the usurer wore hanging to a thick gold chain, which was never removed night or day--the iniquitous volume was further secured by being placed in an iron chest, proof against fire and thieves. The money gained by these shameful transactions was sent monthly to New York, where it was banked in the name of Craig & Co., solicitors. This was done to prevent the possibility of the losers of this money tracing it, by the numbers of the notes, into the hands of the usurer. These precautions may seem superfluous, but they were no more than necessary. Silas Craig felt that he was carrying on an infamous traffic. He knew that were his name revealed as the proprietor of a house which bore no very high reputation for fair play, and in which several deeds of darkness were strongly suspected to have been committed, universal hatred and execration would be heaped upon his guilty head. More than this, there was a tribunal he dreaded more than all the established courts of New Orleans; he knew that for such an offense as his the infuriated citizens would have recourse to the horrors of Lynch Law. He glanced round suspiciously as Augustus Horton entered the room, and thrust the locked ledger into an open drawer in his desk. "My dear Augustus," he said, with his accustomed conciliatory smile, "this is indeed an agreeable surprise. I scarcely expected to see you so soon again." "I dare say not," answered the planter, coolly, taking out a cigar and lighting it at the taper by which Craig sealed his letters. "And may I ask to what I owe the honor of this visit?" said Silas, looking, with considerable curiosity, at his client's thoughtful countenance. "I'll tell you, Silas Craig. That young Mexican yonder; that Lisimon, or Lismion, or whatever his name may be--that hanger-on and dependent of Juan Moraquitos, must leave your office." Silas started and glanced wonderingly at the planter. "Ay, you may stare," said Augustus; "never you mind my motives. I say he must go!" "But, my dear young friend, my impetuous friend, that is utterly impossible. I have no particular affection for Mr. Paul Lisimon, I assure you, but his articles have been signed." "Let them be canceled, then; let the fellow be kicked out of the office."