"Yes, and a secret worth buying. Your husband wasn't so poor as you
think. He left stock and papers representing three thousand dollars,
and I am the only man who can put you in the way of getting it."

Mrs. Barclay was about to express her surprise, when a loud knock was
head at the outer door.

"Who's that?" demanded the tramp quickly. "Is it the boy?"

"No, he would not knock."

"Then, let me get out of this," he said, leaping to his feet. "Isn't
there a back door?"

"Yes, there it is."

He hurried to the door, unbolted it, and made his escape into the open
beyond the house, just as the knock was repeated.

Confused by what she had heard, and the strange conduct of her
visitor, the widow took the lamp and went to the door. To her
surprise she found on opening it, two visitors, in one of whom she
recognized Squire Davenport, already referred to as holding a mortgage
on her house. The other was a short, dark-complexioned man, who
looked like a mechanic.

"Excuse me the lateness of my call, Mrs. Barclay," said the squire
smoothly. "I come on important business. This is Mr. Kirk, a cousin
of my wife."