It was soon noised about that John Graves was in town. Ten years before he had been a frequent visitor at the house of Mr. Lane, and he was still remembered by many.
Among those who were interested in his return was Enoch Perkins, the lawyer who had in his safe the letter which Mrs. Lane had lost relating to his claim on the estate. He had kept it carefully, not knowing whether it would ever be available. Now it seemed the time had come.
Mr. Graves was staying at the house of John Nugent, but he had not yet mentioned the business matter which he had discussed with Mrs. Lane. He was considering what he would do about it. Not that it would seriously embarrass him to lose the money, for he was a rich man outside of this sum. But he felt that at any rate he must substantiate his claim and prove that he was no impostor.
Graves was passing the office of the lawyer the next day, when Mr. Perkins called him to come in.
"I don't know if you know me, Mr. Graves," he said, "but when you were last here I had just opened an office. This is my card."
"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Perkins," said Graves, politely.
"Will you pardon me for my abruptness, but have you not a claim—a large claim—on the estate of the late Mr. Lane?"
John Graves eyed him in amazement.
"How do you know this?" he asked.
"Let me show you."