"I've seen thet chap afore. 'Pears ter me he works fer the government."
"Do you know his name?"
"No. Wot's the other fellow's handle?"
"Dike Powell. He is known as a Wall street sharper. I wish I could hear what the two have to say to each other. Yet I don't want Dike Powell to see me."
"It's easy enough, lad. Thar's a window close to the table, an' it's open. We'll walk out on the veranda, and get under the opening. Come."
In a second more they were outside. Tiptoeing their way across the veranda, which was deserted, they soon found themselves close to the open window mentioned.
"And so that is settled," they heard the man from New York remark. "I am glad to hear it, Vorlange."
Vorlange! Dick started and so did Jack Rasco. The boy was trying to think where he had heard it before. Ah, he had it now. Many and many a time had he heard his parent murmur that name in his sleep, and the name was coupled with many other things, dreadful to remember. Surely there was some awful mystery here. What made his father mutter that name in his dreams, and why at such time was he talking of murder and hanging, and sobbing that he was innocent? A cold chill crept down the boy's backbone. Was the heart of that secret to be laid bare at last?
