The apartment in which Sydney found himself was a very pleasant one, well lighted from the large window, whose upper portion was undraped. There were some pictures on the walls, a piano stood at one side, and a guitar could be seen off in one corner. But Sydney was not in the mood to take many notes of his surroundings. He proceeded at once with the business in hand. “Was Mr. David Darley any relation to Maurice Darley?” he inquired. “Will it hurt David if I answer?” replied the old lady cautiously. “How can it, since you say he is dead?” Sydney responded with the flicker of a smile. “Well, then,” answered the other, heaving a little sigh, “I don’t see as it can do any harm for me to say that David was his brother.” “At last,” burst forth Sydney with something between a shout and a groan. He put his hand against the wall as if to steady himself. CHAPTER XXVIII THE STRANGE CONDUCT OF MRS. FOX All the suspicions of the little white haired old lady seemed to be revived by Sydney’s manner of receiving the intelligence she gave him. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake about it,” she said, pinching nervously at the edges of a white apron she wore. “It may be another man of the same name.” “Is this Maurice Darley dead?” asked Sydney, paying no attention to her disturbed equanimity. “I don’t know. Maybe he is,” was the reply. “When did you see him last?” went on Sydney. “How do you know I ever saw him?” asked the old lady quickly. Sydney began to lose his patience. “You seem to think I mean you some harm,” he said. “You are quite wrong there. It is a matter of money, of a fortune that belongs to Mr. Maurice Parley, if I can find him.” The old lady looked at him keenly. “That’s what caused all his trouble,” she said slowly. “Fortunes. He was always thinking of them.” “Can’t you tell me where he is now?” Sydney went on in a coaxing tone. “You appear to know a good deal about him.” “Oh, Mr.—I? Do I show it?” A terrified look came into the old lady’s eyes. Her fingers clutched tightly at each side of the doorway over which she had mounted guard. Sydney was by this time convinced that there was some mystery about Maurice Darley, which the woman before him was seeking to conceal. “What if he is dead?” The old lady brought this out with a sort of triumphant tone. “But he isn’t dead,” Sydney returned, with almost the same manner. “If he was you would have said so long ago. You see I can understand some things. But why are you so secret about him? Tell me, did you ever hear him speak of a Mr. Tyler?” “Hush, hush!” The old lady put her fingers over her lips and advanced to Sydney as if to thrust him out of the door. “Not now. Not here,” she added in an imploring tone. Sydney was compelled to back out of the door into the street, but he held it open partially to say: “I must find out about Maurice Darley. It is for his good, not mine. Where can I see you about him? Will you come to my office on Chestnut Street?”