Although he was a man of considerable wealth, neither his habitation nor its furnishings betrayed the fact. His house was a decadent building on the outskirts of the city of Chester, in a place called Eddystone, ten miles from Philadelphia. The house was isolated, the nearest buildings being some deserted shacks near the railroad.
Grant Chadwick liked solitude. He had retired from business years ago, and now derived an excellent income from certain holdings which he possessed. Yet he was miserly to the extreme, unwilling to part with anything he owned.
The furnishings of his home were not only cheap, they were inadequate. Only a few of the rooms were fit for occupancy. All of old Chadwick's wealth rested in safe-deposit vaults; and the great percentage of his income was hoarded away with his investments.
The old man awoke from his doze and nodded mechanically. He looked about the room in a solemn manner.
He did not know how long he had been asleep. He did not seem to care. There was no clock in the room. Grant Chadwick paid little attention to the passage of time.
Besides the bed and a few chairs, the room contained a battered desk, of the antiquated roll-top variety. Grant Chadwick, no longer sleepy, went to the desk and opened it. He began a slow and methodical inspection of the drawers.
Most of them were empty. Others contained an odd assortment of useless articles. But in one drawer, the old man discovered two objects for which he was searching. Both were sheets of paper — one small, the other large.
The old man laid the papers on the desk. Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, he prepared to retire. Soon he was garbed in nightgown and nightcap.
He walked back to the desk, took the papers, and carried them to the bed. There, he lighted an oil lamp that rested upon a crumbling dictionary placed upon a chair. He extinguished the other lights and climbed into the bed.
He slipped his hand beneath the pillow and drew forth an old-fashioned revolver. This weapon was the old man's safeguard against burglars. He had owned the gun for many years, but he had never had occasion to use it. Grant Chadwick's reputation for meagerness was the best protection that he could have asked. A sane robber would have tackled a dog kennel in preference to the decaying home of Grant Chadwick.