plan. I'll go to her. I'll get my money--I'll get it in spite of
death!"

He rose from his chair, and grasped his cane to go, but the excitement
had brought on a severe fit of coughing, and he was obliged to resume
his seat until it was over.

This delay gave Sharpman time to think.

"Wait!" he said, when the old man had finally recovered; "wait a
little. I think I have a plan in mind that is better than yours--one
that will bring you in more cash."

"More cash?" Craft was quiet and attentive in a moment. The word
"cash" had a magical influence over him.

Sharpman arose, closed the door between the two rooms tightly, and
locked it. "Some one might chance to intrude," he explained.

Then he came back, sat down in front of his visitor, and assumed an
attitude of confidence.

"Yes," he said, "more cash; ten times as much."

"Well, what's your plan?" asked the old man, somewhat incredulously.

"Let me tell you first what I know," replied the lawyer. "I know that
Mrs. Burnham believes this boy to be dead; believes it with her whole
mind and heart. You would find it exceedingly difficult to convince
her to the contrary. She would explain away your proofs: she would