"How much does he pay?"
"He pays eight dollars a week, and has the room alone."
"I suppose his room is not likely to become vacant soon?"
"Oh, dear, no. He has been with us for several years. We should be sorry to lose him. Last Christmas he gave my daughter a present of a nice silk-dress pattern."
Frank was struck by this information.
"I don't believe he paid anything for the silk," thought he. "I wish I could find out."
He had learned all he cared for, and left, saying he might call again.
"His expenses seem very moderate for a man in his position," thought Frank. "I wonder if he makes any investments."
Fortune favored our hero in the prosecution of his inquiry. Keeping Haynes in sight, as was his custom, he observed that the latter, in pulling out a handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his coat, had brought with it a letter also. Frank, quickly and unobserved, picked it up, and when he was alone looked at the address. It was directed to James Haynes, at his residence in Waverley place. On the envelope was the printed address of a real-estate broker in Brooklyn.
Frank knew that there was at that time considerable speculation in Brooklyn real estate, and he examined the letter. It ran thus:—