nately he was in a civilized city, where laws are supposed to
afford some protection from personal assault, and this course,
therefore, was not to be thought of. Since violence, then, was not
practicable, he must have recourse to stratagem, and, to put Gilbert
temporarily off his guard, he must play a part.

"Well, young man," he said, at length, "I am not prepared at present to
pronounce a definite opinion upon your claim. Of course, if really
convinced that you were my nephew, I would acknowledge you to be such."

"I have some doubts as to that," thought Gilbert.

"But it does not seem to me very probable that such is the case. Of
course, I objected to being duped by an impostor. You cannot blame me
for that."

"No."

"At first, your claim appeared to me preposterous, and I pronounced it
to be so. Upon reflection, though I strongly doubt its genuineness, I
am willing to take time to consider it."

"That is fair," said Gilbert.

"I shall consult with a lawyer on the subject, and institute some
inquiries of my own. Then, besides, my time will be partly occupied
with other business, on which I have come hither. You may come again,
say in a week, and I shall perhaps be able to give you a definite
answer."

"Very well," said Gilbert. "Good-morning."

"Good-morning," responded his uncle, following him to the door. "I'd
like to kick you down stairs, you young villain," he added, _sotto
voce_.

James Grey shut the door of his chamber, and sat down to think. It was
certainly an emergency that called for serious thought. Gilbert's claim
would strip him of four-fifths of his fortune, and reduce him from a
rich man to a comparatively poor one.

"I am not safe as long as that paper exists," he concluded. "It must be
stolen from the boy, in some way." But how? He felt that he wanted an
unscrupulous tool through whose agency he might get possession of old
Jacob's confession. That destroyed, he could snap his fingers at
Gilbert, and live undisturbed in the possession of the fortune he
wrongfully withheld from him.

Sometimes the devil sends to evil men precisely what they most want,
and so it turned out in this particular instance.

That evening Mr. Grey was walking thoughtfully in the street,
reflecting upon his difficult situation, when his sharp ears caught the
sound of his nephew's name, pronounced by two boys, or young men, in
front of him. Not to keep the reader in suspense, they were Maurice
Walton and a frie