lesson."

On the day that Fred left, Nat was called to the office by John Garwell.

"Nat, I want you to go to Springfield, Massachusetts, immediately," said
the real estate broker. "See when you can catch a train."

"A train leaves the Grand Central Depot at eleven-thirty," was our
hero's answer, after consulting a time-table.

"Then you have plenty of time. Take this document and turn it over to
Mr. Perry Robertson."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't give it to anybody else."

"Shall I wait for Mr. Robertson, if he isn't in when I call?"

"Yes."

"All right, sir."

No more was said, and Nat prepared for the trip without further delay.
He wished to ask his employer about the documents found in the trunk,
but saw that Mr. Garwell was too busy to be interrupted.

Nat was getting used to taking short trips to various cities, so the
ride to Springfield was no great novelty. He put in part of his time at
reading a newspaper, and the balance at studying shorthand from a book
which he carried with him.

Arriving at Springfield, Nat found he would have to wait until evening
before he could see Mr. Perry Robertson. This made him stay in the city
overnight, and he did not arrange to go back to New York until ten
o'clock the next morning.

He had just paid his bill at the hotel, and was passing the smoking
room, when he saw a man who looked familiar, get up from reading a
newspaper, and walk toward him.

"Hamilton Dart!" gasped our hero, and rushing forward he caught the
swindler by the arm.

CHAPTER XXVII

A SCENE AT THE HOTEL

The fellow who had posed as a broker and commission merchant was taken
completely by surprise when confronted by Nat, and for the moment did
not know what to say.

"I guess you didn't expect to see me again," said our hero, after a
pause, during which Nick Smithers--to use his real name--glared fiercely
at the youth.

"Excuse me, boy, but I don't know you!" said the swindler, at last. "You
have made a strange mistake."

"Oh, no, I haven't," answered Nat. "You are Hamilton Dart, alias Nick
Smithers."

"My dear young friend you are in error. My name is Josiah Garfield, and
I am from Concord, Massachusetts."

"I am not mistaken. You are Nick Smithers, and you are the rascal who
swindled me in New York City."

"Boy, you must be mad!" burst out Nick Smithers, in assumed
indignation. "I a swindler! Preposterous!"

"It's the plain truth, and there is no use of your denying it."

By