"I mean longer ago than that. I have a queer feeling as if some time you were connected with me in some way," said Robert, thoughtfully.
Fitzgerald was secretly uneasy. If Robert's recollections should become clearer, and he should come to suspect the truth, then good-by to his plans, for the boy would of course be on his guard. His ingenuity came to his aid.
"It is more likely," he said, in an apparently indifferent tone, "that I resemble some such person. The fact is," he added with a forced laugh, "I once came near falling a victim to my unfortunate resemblance to a rascal. I was arrested on suspicion of being a forger or something of the sort, because I looked like the real culprit. Of course the truth came out, but not until I had been subjected to some inconvenience."
This explanation seemed satisfactory to Robert, who gave up his scrutiny of his employer, convinced that he had been deluded by a fancied or real resemblance.
They made a day's stop at Buffalo, and went from there to Niagara Falls, which Robert had never before seen. He naturally derived a rare enjoyment from the sight of the great cataract. He was hurried away from the falls by Fitzgerald in consequence of a conversation which the boy had with a stranger, which grievously alarmed his employer.
This is how it happened:
Robert and Fitzgerald were on Goat Island. Our hero was looking earnestly at the mighty cataract, and did not observe that a stranger was looking earnestly at him. Fitzgerald had strayed to a little distance, and was not within earshot.
Robert was roused from his revery by a tap upon the shoulder.
Turning he saw a man of forty-five, well dressed, and apparently a man of position.
"Did you wish to speak to me, sir?" he inquired.