The Heart of a Mystery

by T. W. Speight

"Not a bit of it, my boy. I've seen the account with my own eyes. Its been accumulating for years, at the rate of eighty pounds per annum. John comes over once a quarter, as regular as clockwork, bringing twenty pounds with him at each visit. The probability is that he banks with us in order that none of Avison's people may know anything of the affair."

"But are you quite sure that the account stands in the name of Miss Rivers, and of no one else?" asked Frank after a pause, during which he had been trying to digest his friend's startling information.

"Of course I'm sure. Hermia Rivers, and that alone, is the name in our ledger. I suppose honest John, having no children of his own, is investing his savings, or some portion of them, for the benefit of his niece. He'll be a lucky fellow that gets Miss Hermy for a wife. If I wasn't engaged already, hang me if I wouldn't have a cut-in on my own account."

It did not take Frank long to make up his mind what he ought to do; the duty he owed to himself lay clearly before him. He would propose to Hermy without a day's delay. He had loved her all along, but he felt that she was dearer, far dearer, to him now than ever she had been before.

[CHAPTER V.]

EPHRAIM JUDD CUTS HIS HAND.

Ephraim Judd was the victim of an insatiable curiosity with regard to the affairs of other people. To pry into the private business and personal histories of his fellow clerks, and of those with whom he was brought into contact in business, was with him a sort of mania. He had a special bunch of keys, procured it would be impossible to say how, which gave him access to nearly every drawer in the office; and many an evening when he stayed after the other clerks had gone, and was supposed to be busily at work, he was, in reality, engaged in prying into private correspondence, and other matters with which he had no manner of concern. It was not that the knowledge thus surreptitiously obtained was of any value to him, or was made use of to the detriment of those from whom it was stolen; it was simply hoarded up in his memory, where so much useless knowledge was stored up already, doubtless greatly to the satisfaction of his curiosity, which was the sole end he had in view. He was stopping to-night after John Brancker's departure because, in the course of the day, John had received a letter by post, the contents of which had seemed to puzzle him greatly, and Ephraim was hungering to know what the letter could possibly be about. After reading the letter two or three times, and wrinkling his brows over it, John had put it away in one of his drawers, and Ephraim was in the hopes of finding it there now.

John Brancker had not been gone more than ten minutes before Ephraim wiped his pen and laid it down. Then he sat perfectly still for a few moments, listening intently with those large, flexible ears of his. Nothing was to be heard save, now and then, the footsteps of someone passing in the street. With a hop and a skip, Ephraim was off his stool and at the door. Long practice had enabled him to turn the handle noiselessly. Holding the door half open, he waited and listened again. Sweet was probably downstairs getting his supper. A moment later Ephraim was on one knee against Mr. Hazeldine's door, and peering through the keyhole. In his india rubber overshoes he moved without a sound. He kept his eye to the keyhole for about a couple of minutes, and then he went back noiselessly to his own office.

"He doesn't seem to have much to do that need keep him so late," muttered Ephraim to himself. "I wonder what he's thinking about. He's got something on his mind, I'm positive he has. He's not the same man he was half a year ago."

While speaking thus he drew from one of his pockets a steel ring, on which were strung about a dozen keys. Selecting one of them, he inserted it into the lock of John Brancker's drawer, which it opened as easily as the proper key could have done. A crafty smile lighted up Ephraim's thin, sallow face as his fingers gripped the handle of the drawer. He pulled, but the drawer stuck and would only open to the extent of a few inches. A little patience would have remedied this, but Ephraim was in a hurry; Obed Sweet might come his rounds at any moment, so into the drawer went his long, lean fingers in search of the letter.