Charley Weyman was anxious to learn how his boy friend had been received and entertained in the Van Kuren mansion, and he listened attentively while Bruce described his visit, told him how friendly Laura and Harry had been, and with what courtesy he had been welcomed by their father and their aunt, but somehow he neglected to mention his long conversation with Laura in the summer-house, nor did he refer to the Dexter mansion at all. The young girl’s words still rang in his ears, and it was a pleasant thought to him that he had a secret to share with her, a secret which none of his other friends need know about. The little scrawl which she had placed in his hand at parting he kept in the innermost compartment of his pocket-book, and many a time during the day while engaged at his work he would take the little crumpled bit of paper out or its hiding place, read it carefully through and then return it, carefully folded up. And as he did so, he would wonder for the thousandth time what her splendid idea could be, and how it could help him to solve the mystery of what she called the “haunted house.” It was just a week after his visit to the Van Kuren’s that he entered the quarters and found a letter addressed to him lying on the table in the back room. He recognized the handwriting at once, and was conscious of a faint color that crept into his cheeks as he seized the precious missive and went upstairs to read it. This is what he found when he tore off the envelope. It was carefully written in pencil on a sheet of paper, which looked as if it had been torn out of a school copy book. “BRUCE DECKER, Esq. “Dear Friend: I have found out where my old nurse lives, and perhaps if you go to see her she will tell you what you want to know. Don’t tell her that you know me, or that you were ever at our house, but ask her about Mr. Dexter and why he lives there all by himself. I think there is an awful mystery about it all, and perhaps some day you will be the hero of a story that will tell about it. “When are you coming up to see us again? Good-bye now, for the present. Your true friend, LAURA VAN KUREN. P. S.—I heard papa say that you seemed to be a very nice boy. P. S.—I forgot to tell you about Ann’s address. She lives at 000 Ave. A, and her name is Mrs. Ann Crehan.” Bruce was not long in making his way to the address given in Laura’s letter. Mrs. Crehan seemed to be nearly a hundred years old, and was certainly very deaf. He succeeded after a while in making her understand what he wanted. “Aye, aye, sir,” she said, “Shure they were good people, too, for all the master had his quarrel with them, but there’s none left now except the ould gentleman, for his son went away and never came back.” “But what was the quarrel about?” bawled the boy at the top of his lungs.