Leonard’s curiosity was excited, and he would have been glad to remain, but as there was no help for it, he went out.
When they were alone, Stark drew up his chair close, and laid his hand familiarly on the bookkeeper’s knee.
“I say, Gibbon, do you remember where we last met?”
Gibbon shuddered slightly.
“Yes,” he answered, feebly.
“It was at Joliet—Joliet Penitentiary. Your time expired before mine. I envied you the six months’ advantage you had of me. When I came out I searched for you everywhere, but heard nothing.”
“How did you know I was here?” asked the bookkeeper.
“I didn’t know. I had no suspicion of it. Nor did I dream that Leonard, who was able to do me a little service, was your nephew. I say, he’s a chip of the old block, Gibbon,” and Stark laughed as if he enjoyed it.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was lying in a field, overcome by liquor, an old weakness of mine, you know, and my wallet had slipped out of my pocket. I chanced to open my eyes, when I saw it in the hands of your promising nephew, ha! ha!”