“It was certainly a lucky thought,” said Bernard, smiling; “considering that my funeral expenses are paid, I feel unusually full of life. However, I am glad you got the money.”
“It is all gone now!” went on Puffer mournfully. “I lived perhaps too freely while it lasted. When it was gone I called once more at Mr. McCracken’s office, and was literally kicked out. What do you think of that?”
Hitherto Walter Cunningham had stood by in silence, listening to the conversation between Bernard and his quondam guardian. Now he came forward with a question.
“Can you tell me, Professor Puffer,” he asked, “why Mr. McCracken wishes to get rid of Bernard?”
“The answer is an easy one. He has in his possession ten thousand dollars intrusted to him by Bernard’s father. It must amount to a good deal more now from the interest that has accrued.”
“What proof can you give of this? Did he ever write to you to that effect?”
“No; but he admitted it to me in conversation.”
“I am disposed to get this back from him. Are you willing to help me?”
“I wish I could,” said Puffer earnestly. “I owe him a grudge. That would be a welcome revenge. But I am afraid there is no chance. If only I had that letter of instructions I could prove at any rate that he wanted me to get rid of him.”
“That would give us a hold on him, and with the help of it I think we could bring him to terms.”