It was at this point that he learned from Ephraim Carver that Grit had been sent to Boston in the place of the regular bank messenger.
"It looks as if somebody suspected something," he reflected anxiously. "Is it possible that any part of our plan has leaked out? And if so, how? Then why should a boy like that be selected for so responsible a duty? He must have had some agency in the discovery. Ha! I have it! He is the stepson of this Brandon. I must question Brandon."
"Brandon," he said abruptly, summoning that worthy to his presence, "you have a son named Grit, have you not?"
"Yes—curse the brat!" answered Brandon, in a tone by no means paternal.
"What kind of a boy is he?"
"Impudent and undutiful," said Brandon. "He doesn't treat me with any kind of respect."
"I don't blame him for that," thought Johnson, surveying his instrument with a glance that did not indicate the highest esteem.
"Did you tell him anything of our plans?" he asked searchingly.
"Tell him! He's the last person I'd tell!" returned Brandon, with emphasis.
"He didn't overhear you and Travers speaking of the matter, did he?"