Grant explained the ruse by which Stephen Dike had lost his life.
“He was a scoundrel! I have no pity for him. And now come with me, and I will take you to my home. I have two rooms, and I shall install you in one of them.”
“How about my gold-dust?”
“As soon as you have washed, and are provided with a new suit, I will take you to a banker, who will weigh and allow you the market price for it.”
“But I shall have no money to pay for the suit till I have sold the dust.”
Mr. Crosmont smiled.
“The suit will be a present from me,” he said.
And no small present it proved to be, for clothing was very dear in San Francisco at that time, so that a ready-made suit, which could be bought in any Eastern city for twenty dollars, or less, cost ninety.
The gold-dust brought a trifle over fifteen hundred dollars, which was entered to Grant’s account on the books of the bank.
“Have you any letters for me, Mr. Crosmont?” asked Grant. “I haven’t heard from home for a long time.”