im to consciousness.

In working over Hal's clothing the golden locket the youth considered
his birthright came to light. For the moment Horace Sumner paid no
attention to it, but placed it on top of the tin box.

At last Hal opened his eyes and stared around him.

"Hal, how do you feel?" questioned the old broker, with real anxiety in
his tones.

"Mr. Sumner! the box--did you----"

"It is safe, Hal."

"I am so glad," and a smile came over the pallid face.

"But, my poor boy, you are hurt--Hardwick shot you. Can't you feel it?"

"Yes, in my side and my shoulder, but I don't think it's very bad, and
I'll soon----"

Before Hal could finish he fainted away. Less than ten minutes later the
man about the place returned with an experienced physician.

"Not dangerously wounded," was his opinion, after a thorough
examination. "He will be as sound as a dollar in a couple of months. But
he ought not to be moved for several weeks."

"He shall not be," said Horace Sumner.

And he at once made arrangements with the owner of the house to have the
use of that room and the next for the entire time mentioned with board
and care for a nurse and Hal.

An hour later Hal was resting easier, and then Horace Sumner arose to
leave and find out what the officers had done with the captured
criminals.

As he turned to pick up the tin box he noticed the golden locket. He
took it up rather carelessly, but suddenly a peculiar look stole into
his eyes, and dropping the tin box he hurriedly opened the locket.

"My heavens!" he ejaculated.

The exclamation was so pronounced that it awoke Hal, and the youth
opened his eyes wide, and stared at the man.

"Where--where did you get this locket?" demanded Horace Sumner, in a
voice husky with emotion.

"It is my birthright--or at least all I have of one," replied the youth.

"Your birthright?"

"That's what I call it, sir. It was around my neck when I was found on
the streets of Fairham."

"Can this be true? When was this?"

"About sixteen years ago. But what--what--"

"Stop! what part of the year, Hal? answer me quickly."

"It was one Fourth of July night."

Horace Sumner staggered back.

"Fourth of July," he muttered to himself. "And little Howard disappeared
on the twenty-seventh of June. Can it be----"

"You say you do not know anything about yourself?" he asked of Hal.

"No, sir. The people at Fairham tried to find out, but they didn't make
a very great effort, I'm th