"I know why he has gone to St. Louis." "Is it to commit murder, or robbery, or for any other dreadful reason?" "It is to commit robbery!" "Don't make a fool of yourself, Maurice Walton," said Bessie, sharply. "I don't know what else you can call it," persisted Maurice. "He is going to try to get possession of some property that don't belong to him." "I don't believe it." "He knows of a rich gentleman of the same name, and he has forged a paper, and is trying to make out that he is his nephew, though it is well known that the nephew died years ago." "Is that his reason for going to St. Louis?" asked Bessie, interested. "Yes." "How do you know?--did he tell you?" "I have the best authority for my statements," said Maurice, who, for reasons known to the reader, did not like to tell how he gained the information; "but I am not at liberty to say more." "You are very mysterious." "What I have told you is the truth. If you don't call it robbery, I do." "All I have got to say is, that if Gilbert claims to be anybody's nephew, I have no doubt he is. He wouldn't forge a paper for anything." "That's where you and I don't agree." "I think it's rather mean of you, Maurice Walton, to come here to slander a friend." "He isn't my friend. Perhaps he is yours." "You are right there," said Bessie, firmly. "He is my friend." "Perhaps, when he gets that fortune, you'll marry him?" said Maurice, sarcastically. "He hasn't asked me yet," said Bessie, blushing. This was too much for Maurice. He began to see that Bessie liked Gilbert more than he suspected, and that, by his blundering, he had only helped matters along. He sulkily bade his cousin good-night, and, returning home, bethought himself of his promise to Mr. Grey, and, though it was late, sat down and wrote him a letter. CHAPTER XXVII. JAMES GREY'S RESIDENCE. About a mile from the bank of the Mississippi River, in the small town of Clayton, stood a handsome house. It was on a commanding site, and could be seen by the travelers bound up the river, from the decks of the large river-boats. It stood in lonely grandeur, with no other houses very near, and those that were within a respectful distance from it were far inferior. The occupant might be judged to be, in his neighborhood, a person of some consideration. This was the mansion of James Grey, already introduced to our readers.