Once more he entered the broad gate and made his way along the winding road through the dense shrubbery to the door of the stately old colonial mansion. A servant answered his ring of the bell and said in response to his inquiry that Mr. Korwein lived there nominally but spent most of his time down town, the woman did not know where. Sometimes she did not see him for a week, and then he would appear suddenly, remain with them three or four days without quitting the house, and then disappear to be gone perhaps a week or two longer. She had no idea where his office was and did not know when Mr. Dexter would return. Having vouchsafed this information, she closed the door, and as her young visitor departed, he heard the bolt sharply snap behind him. Before leaving the grounds, Bruce walked to the corner of the house and refreshed his memory with another long look at the old vine-clad porch which had attracted his attention on the occasion of his first visit and had suggested to his mind the long search upon which he was still engaged. There it was just as when he had last seen it, just as it was when he saw it in those long gone by childish days. He returned in a rather disconsolate mood to the quarters and told Weyman the result of his visit. “Never mind,” said the latter, “you mustn’t expect to learn every thing all in a hurry. Go up again there the next time you can get away for an afternoon and you may find him. Anyhow while there’s life there’s hope, and if you can’t find him there you may run across him down town some time. Keep your eyes open whenever you go about the streets, and you’ll find him some day when you’ll least expect him. I never go out without looking for him myself.” Bruce paid two more visits to the Dexter mansion without learning anything further, and it was then that he sat down and wrote the letter to Skinny asking him how soon he expected to be back in town again, the effect of which has been shown in a preceding chapter. CHAPTER XXXI. About one hour after the brief but violent sidewalk encounter already described, a small and ragged street boy entered Chief Trask’s quarters, cast a searching eye over the group of men who were assembled there, and then walked quickly over to Bruce Decker, who was at work, can in hand, oiling the wheels of the chief’s wagon. “Is dis your name, boss?” he inquired, as he handed to him a letter, enclosed in a dirty yellow envelope, on which was written, in sprawling, uncertain characters, the words: BRUCE DECKER, In Care of Hook and Ladder. The young fire lad opened the message, and deciphered the following sentence: “Cum down and meet me at Lyonse’s, and eat supper to-night. Wot time will you come? SKINNY.” “Dere’s an answer ter dat,” said the boy, as Bruce finished reading the note. [Illustration: “Dere’s an answer ter dat,” said the boy.—_Page 286._]