“Not at present. It is my uncle’s.”
“And that secretary—pardon my curiosity—is his?”
“Yes; but what business is it of yours?”
“Not much. Only it makes me laugh to see a gentleman picking a lock. You should leave such business to men like me!”
“You are an insolent fellow!” said Curtis, more embarrassed than he liked to confess, for this rough-looking man had become possessed of a dangerous secret. “I am my uncle’s confidential agent, and it was on business of his that I wished to open the desk.”
“Why not go to him for the key?”
“Because he is sick. But, pshaw! why should I apologize or give any explanation to you? What can you know of him or me?”
“More, perhaps, than you suspect,” said the intruder, quietly.
“Then, you know, perhaps, that I am my uncle’s heir?”
“Don’t be too sure of that.”