Nathan Graves sought the residence of John Wade. He rang the bell as the clock struck eight.
“Well, what success?” asked Wade, when they met.
“I have tracked the boy. What more can I do for you?” asked Graves.
“I want to get him away from the city. The fact is—I may as well tell you—my uncle has taken a great fancy to the boy, and might be induced to adopt him, and cut me off from my rightful inheritance. The boy is an artful young rascal, and has been doing all he could to get into the good graces of my uncle, who is old and weak-minded.”
It was nine o’clock when Nathan Graves left the house, John Wade himself accompanying him to the door.
“How soon do you think you can carry out my instructions?” asked Wade.
“To-morrow, if possible.”
“The sooner the better.”
“It is lucky I fell in with him,” said Nathan Graves to himself, with satisfaction, as he slowly walked down Fifth Avenue. “It’s a queer business, but that’s none of my business. The main thing for me to consider is that it brings money to my purse, and of that I have need enough.”
Graves left the house richer by a hundred dollars than he entered it.