boys as 'Old Fusil,' or 'Fusel Oil,' who went into delirium tremens at
the sight of me. Well, who do you suppose he turned out to be? Flint!
Flint played out and ruined! Cast off and discarded by his relations in
New York--the foundation of whose fortunes he had laid by the villainy
they had accepted and condoned. For Flint, as the carpenter of the old
homestead, had discovered the existence of a bricked closet in the wall
of father's study, partitioned it off so that he could break into it
without detection and rifle it at his leisure, and who had thus carried
off that part of grandfather's hoard which father had concealed there.
He knew it could never be missed by the descendants. But, through haste
or ignorance, he DID NOT TOUCH THE PAPERS and documents also hidden
there. And THEY told of the existence of grandfather's second cache, or
hiding-place, beneath this hearth, and were left for me to discover."

He coolly relit his pipe, fixed his eyes on Marie without apparently
paying attention to the breathless scrutiny of the others, and went on:
"Flint, alias Pierre a Fusil, alias Gunn, died a maniac. I resolved to
test the truth of his story. I came here. I knew the old homestead, as
a boy who had wandered over every part of it, far better than you,
Gabriel, or any one. The elder Gunn had only heard of it through the
criminal disclosure of his relative, and only wished to absorb it
through his son in time, and thus obliterate all trace of Flint's
outrage. I recognized the room perfectly--thanks to our dear Kitty, who
had taken up the carpet, which thus disclosed the loose plank before the
closet that was hidden by the partition. Under pretext of rearranging
the room--for which Kitty will forgive me--I spent the day behind a
locked door, making my way through the partition. There I found the
rifled closet, but the papers intact. They contained a full description
of the sum taken by Flint, and also of a larger sum buried in a cask
beside this chimney. I had just finished unearthing it a few moments