“This is the fortune Mrs. Windham’s uncle, Alexander, promised to leave her,” he told himself. “I must give it to her and at once.”
Fearful that the money might get away from him, Frank placed the crisp bills in an envelope, and pinned this fast in an inner pocket of his vest. Then he went below again, got out his bicycle, and lit the lantern.
“You are going to take quite a late ride,” said Mr. Basswood, who was on the hotel veranda, smoking.
“Yes, I have a little business to attend to,” answered Frank.
He was soon wheeling off in the direction of the Windham cottage. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, and his lamp was a good one, so he had little difficulty in keeping out of danger. In about an hour he reached Samuel Windham’s place, and dismounting, walked to the door and knocked.
“Why, hullo, is it you?” came from Samuel Windham, as he opened the door, and looked at Frank in astonishment. “I didn’t expect a visitor so late.”
“I’m sure you’ll forgive me when you know what I’ve come for,” returned the young book agent. “How is your wife?”
“She’s pretty fair to-night.”
“Who is that, Samuel?” came from a side room of the cottage.
“It’s that young agent, Mr. Hardy,” answered the husband.