“I know all about these fortunes!” returned Potter. “I seem to remember you as a waiter at the Old Pike Inn, however.”
“Head waiter!” corrected the other. “I was studying law all the time I was there, and now I have a pretty fair business in New York, although I don’t have to depend on fees for my living. I have other means.”
T. Burton Potter, still with his hands up, stared at this man thoughtfully. What passed in his mind was Potter’s own secret. He may have had no deeper purpose than to get out of the house—or he may have had other ideas.
“Stand still there for a minute. If you are willing to listen to a proposition, I think I can show you how you can make some money—more than you’ve ever had in your life, and without having to work for it.”
“That would suit me,” declared Potter earnestly.
“No doubt. It would suit most men of your stripe. Let me find out for myself whether you have any weapons about you. Turn your face to the wall.”
In a minute or two the man of the house had been through Potter’s pockets and found that he had told the truth. Potter knew that there was a law making it a criminal offense to carry deadly weapons, and he was too cautious to take a chance of being caught with anything of the kind. Besides, he did not believe in murder.
“Put your hands down, and have a drink,” said the stern man, when he was satisfied that Potter was not armed. “You will notice that my gun is ready for action, at my finger ends. There’s a bottle on that table at your side, and glasses. Drink! I don’t care for any myself.”
T. Burton Potter had had a hard night, and he was willing to refresh himself with a little liquor.
“Now listen to me,” said the strange host. “I have something to say.”