As for the money-lender, he realized as soon as his uncle had left the office and slammed the door behind him, that in all probabilities he would never see the inheritance of which he had for so many years based his hopes. However, there was one chance left to him, and he determined to try it before abandoning all expectation forever. He must see Bruce at once, for it was possible that, through this boy, he might once more obtain influence over his uncle. Taking his hat and cane, he left his office and hurried away to the address which Bruce had given him, and it was there that he learned that the boy had found employment in the very truck-house in which his father had worked before him, and where he had often visited him. “That was stupid enough in me,” he remarked, angrily, to himself, as he strolled along toward the quarters. “I might have known that the boy’s first thought after his father’s death would have been to look for some sort of a job in the department. If I had only made inquiries there instead of sending that rascally newsboy up into the country, I would have found him long ago, and might have had him out of the way by this time, if I had seen the necessity for it.” As he entered the building, Charley Weyman recognized him, and went upstairs to look for the boy. “He’s down there, Bruce,” he said, significantly. “Who’s down there?” demanded the young lad, looking up from the book which he was reading. “That tall chap, with the scar on his face, that you’ve talked about so often. And, mark my words, he means you no good. But you go down and see what he has to say, and then tell me about it before you give him any promise or agree to do anything that he asks you to.” “But perhaps he’s not going to ask me anything,” replied the boy. “It may be that he’s come here to do me a favor.” “Don’t you believe it!” retorted Weyman. “That man never goes anywhere unless it is to get something from somebody. If he offers to do you a favor, be mighty careful how you accept his offer.” Bruce went downstairs, and was very cordially greeted by the mysterious man who had caused him so many sleepless nights since the first time he had heard of him. He was surprised now to find him so agreeable and kindly in his manner, and in a few moments he forgot his good friend’s caution, and found himself talking to the money-lender as freely and easily as if he had known him all his life. He told him all that he knew of his origin, and mentioned the fact that he hardly knew anything about his father’s family or friends. “I came down here soon after my father’s death, and the chief took me on here, got my pension for me, and has kept me here ever since. When I’m old enough I hope to join the department, and perhaps rise in it.” “What pension is that?” asked Mr. Dexter, with a sudden gleam of interest in his face. “The department pays it to me because my father was killed in the service,” replied the boy.