Between the room which the Moultons occupied and that belonging to the strange man was a huge chimney, leaving quite a space on one side for closets, one in each room, which were separated from each other only by a thin, loose, board partition. The man, on entering his room, set his candle upon a table. He then began to disrobe himself, first removing a huge wig and heavy pair of whiskers, revealing the black, curling locks and handsome face of Ralph Moulton’s ally, _Ronald Edgerton_. “I guess the old rascal couldn’t have known me, anyhow,” he muttered, with a complacent smile at the transformation, “but I felt rather ticklish when they came in so unexpectedly. To think that youngster should be so near me and not——” He stopped suddenly, and looked around as if he feared some one might overhear what he was about to utter. Then, heaving a deep sigh, while a look of sadness overshadowed his face, he removed his coat. “Well, I must to work now. I am bound to know if he has it in his possession. If I do not find it to-night I shall give up the game.” Saying which, he took a small screw-driver from the table drawer, and going into the closet, listened intently. He could hear nothing but the sharp rattling of dishes and the low muttering of voices. He then cautiously applied his screw-driver, and removed an already loosened board at one end of the partition, and out of sight of the door, so that any one going to the closet would not discover the aperture. He then carefully squeezed himself through this opening and found himself in the closet belonging to the other room, and could now hear the voices quite plainly. He crept softly along to the door, and applying his ear to the crevice, could easily catch every word that was uttered. Squire Moulton was speaking, and he heard the words: “Let the girl go to the duse, boy; you have something of more importance on hand just now.” “I tell you, uncle, I would give up everything to gain Dora Dupont for my wife,” said Ralph, excitedly. “What! would you give up an honorable name?” sneered the squire. The young man colored angrily. “I tell you,” he hissed, “I won’t be twitted with that again. You may carry out your own plans for revenge alone, for all me, if you can’t treat me decently.” “Well, well,” interrupted his uncle, soothingly. “No, no; it isn’t _well, well_. You are always throwing out something about my parentage, and I am about tired of it.” “That’s all the thanks I get,” retorted Squire Moulton, hotly. “Here I am trying to help you to one of the first positions. Perhaps you would rather I would tell you outright that you are illegitimate, with no chance of claiming an honorable name?” There was a touch of intense sarcasm in his tone. “You know better than that, uncle, and that I am only too willing to believe that I am the rightful son of Mr. Ellerton; but it is not pleasant to be twitted about one’s obligations.”