Among the boarders at the Ransom House was a small, thin, shriveled man, with a wrinkled face and a pair of sharp, crafty eyes, whose name on the register was Matthew Grote. He appeared to have money, and it was currently reported that he wanted to make an investment.
On the evening of their arrival, Nelson Hawk, the superintendent of the mine, called, and, taking a seat in the public room, began to converse with Grote. Gerald conjectured that this must be the man who wanted to buy the mine. He sat down about ten feet from the pair, and appeared to be absorbed in a paper which he had picked up in the office. Grote and Hawk had no suspicion that the boy, whom they considered of small importance, was a listener to their conversation, and spoke in their ordinary tone of voice.
"Have you heard from old Nixon, Mr. Hawk?" asked Grote.
"Yes. I received a letter yesterday."
"What does he say?"
"That he can't come on. His health will not admit of it."
"Will he sell you his interest?"
"He says he will take the offer into consideration, and will let me know soon."
"I wish the old crank would hurry up. Does he express any doubts about your statements as to the depreciation in value?"
"No. Why should he? He knows nothing about it except what I tell him."