"That you know of," said the tramp, significantly. "Do you know of any?" asked Mrs. Barclay eagerly. "How did you happen to know him?" "I was the barkeeper in the hotel where he died. It was a small house, not one of your first-class hotels." "My husband was always careful of his expenses. He did not spend money unnecessarily. With his prudence we all thought he must have some investments, but we could discover none." "Have you got any money in the house?" asked the tramp, with seeming abruptness. "Why do you ask?" returned the widow, alarmed. "Surely, you would not rob me?" "No, I don't want to rob you. I want to sell you something." "I don't care to buy. It takes all our money for necessary expenses." "You don't ask what I have to sell." "No, because I cannot buy it, whatever it may be." "It is--a secret," said the tramp. "A secret!" repeated Mrs. Barclay, bewildered. "Yes, and a secret worth buying. Your husband wasn't so poor as you think. He left stock and papers representing three thousand dollars, and I am the only man who can put you in the way of getting it." Mrs. Barclay was about to express her surprise, when a loud knock was head at the outer door. "Who's that?" demanded the tramp quickly. "Is it the boy?" "No, he would not knock." "Then, let me get out of this," he said, leaping to his feet. "Isn't there a back door?" "Yes, there it is." He hurried to the door, unbolted it, and made his escape into the open beyond the house, just as the knock was repeated. Confused by what she had heard, and the strange conduct of her visitor, the widow took the lamp and went to the door. To her surprise she found on opening it, two visitors, in one of whom she recognized Squire Davenport, already referred to as holding a mortgage on her house. The other was a short, dark-complexioned man, who looked like a mechanic. "Excuse me the lateness of my call, Mrs. Barclay," said the squire smoothly. "I come on important business. This is Mr. Kirk, a cousin of my wife." "Walk in, gentlemen," said Mrs. Barclay. "This is night of surprises," she thought to herself. CHAPTER IV UNPLEASANT BUSINESS It was now nine o'clock, rather a late hour for callers in the country, and Mrs. Barclay waited not without curiosity to hear the nature of the business which had brought her two visitors at that time. "Take seats, gentlemen," she said, with the courtesy habitual to her. Squire Davenport, who was disposed to consider that he had a right to the best of everything, seated himself in the rocking-chair, and signed his companion to a cane chair beside him. "Mr. Kirk," he commenced, "is thinking of coming to Pentonville to live." "I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Barclay politely. Perhaps she would not have said this if she had known what was coming next.