CHAPTER VII.
A PLAN THAT DIDN'T WORK.
Julian Gray took his stand in one corner of the room, with his hands in his pockets and his feet spread out, and looked at this man who called himself Haberstro. He was a German, there were no two ways about that; and he had a habit of taking out his handkerchief and wiping his face with it that nobody but a pompous and well-to-do German ever imitated.
"Do you know of a man of the name of Winkleman?" asked Jack.
"Know him?" exclaimed the German. "Of course I do. He was living here in St. Louis with me, but all on a sudden he took the gold fever and went out to Denver. I was engaged in pretty good business, and so I did not go with him. I never heard what he was doing out there. He—he isn't dead, is he?"
"Oh, no. He accumulated some property while he was out there. He got a notice that his father had died in Europe and left all his property to him, and he has gone home to take possession of it."
"Then that accounts for his not writing to me. He always said that his folks were immensely rich, and that some day he would have more than he wanted. What property did he collect out there?"
"He is worth several buildings which are worth a hundred thousand dollars. Furthermore, he has given them to you."
"To me?" cried the German, rising to his feet.
"Yes, to you. And, more than that, he has a mine out of which he took fifty thousand dollars, and you come into possession of that, also."