"Maurice Walton!" he repeated. "Why that's my young spy. It must be about my nephew."
He read with eager interest:
"Dear Sir:—(so it commenced) You asked me to write you if anything happened. I think you will like to know that your nephew, Gilbert Grey, if he is your nephew, which I doubt, has just left here for St. Louis. I suppose, from what I can learn, that he is in search of you. I don't think he has any idea where you really live. He has not learned from me, for I hate him, and I won't tell him anything he wants to know. I didn't know but you might happen to be in St. Louis, so I write to put you on your guard. I hope you will write to me, so that I may know this letter went straight.
"Yours, respectfully,
"Maurice Walton."
"He wants me to write to him, inclosing ten dollars," thought James Grey. "Well, he shall not be disappointed. His information is worth that. So my young nephew is on the trail is he? He really thinks he is a match for me. Well, well, we shall see. He mustn't push his inquiries too far, or he may find me dangerous," and Mr. Grey's face assumed a dark and threatening look. "However, he is not likely to find me in this out-of-the-way place."
Mr. Grey went into his library, and penned a short letter to Maurice Walton, commending him for his watchfulness, and inclosing a ten-dollar greenback.
He had scarcely finished the letter when Pompey entered, and said:
"Scuse me, massa, but there's a young gemman below that axes to see you."
"A young gentleman!" repeated Mr. Grey. "Can it be my nephew?" flashed through his mind with sudden suspicion.