He paused, for it just occurred to him that he did not know the tramp's name. The tramp--no, we shall call him that no more, for he was no longer of that class--the man, then, smiled. "Decker is my name," he said. "Mortimer Decker, though most of my friends--what few I have left--call me Mort. As I consider you a friend of mine, you may do so, Herbert. You see I know your name, for you're sort of a public character." "I don't know about that, but I'm glad you've gotten a place, Mort." "Yes, after my little experience in the brook I decided to get some work to do here if possible. I heard that the man who lived in that big mansion was rich, and I thought he might want a private secretary, or a stenographer and typewriter. I learned who lived there, but when I inquired at the place an old woman said Mr. Stockton had gone away." "I believe he has, but there seems to be something queer about it," said Bert. "No one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him. Now no one has seen him for some time." "So it appears. But the old woman--Blarcum, she said her name was--called a young man to talk to me. He was Alfred Muchmore, Mr. Stockton's nephew, and, after I had told him what I could do, he engaged me." "I didn't think he had any work you could do," said Bert, recalling the rumor he had heard, that Muchmore was a professional gambler. "Well, he has quite a lot of business papers to copy, and I am doing that for him. He pays me well. Still, I can't say that I altogether like the place." "Why not?" Mort Decker came closer to Herbert, though no one was then near them, the boys of the department being too interested in cleaning the engine, refilling it, and putting it in the barn, to pay attention to anything else. "There's something queer about that house," said Mort in a whisper. "Queer? How do you mean?" "Well, Muchmore seems afraid that I will go into some rooms where I have no business. Once I was going down a long corridor, when he called me back, and said those were his private apartments, and no one was allowed there. Then, again, I was just going into a room that the old housekeeper said contained fine paintings, for I am very fond of pictures, but Mr. Muchmore thrust me back, and seemed quite excited. Then, too, the housekeeper seems very much afraid of the young nephew. I believe there is some secret connected with that house." "So do I," declared Bert, and he told Mort of his experience when the fire had occurred. "I'll keep my eyes open, and see if I can learn anything," promised the stenographer. "If I hear anything I'll let you know. I can't invite you to call and see me, for I'm afraid Muchmore wouldn't like it. But the first chance I get I'll come down and see you." "I wish you would," replied Bert. "You'll generally find me at one of the engine houses, at least until school opens. Then I've got to begin my studies again."