Grit's face showed the astonishment he felt at the unexpected appearance of a man whom he knew to be the prime instigator of the attempt to rob the bank at Chester.

Colonel Johnson smiled grimly as he saw the effect produced by his presence.

"You didn't expect to see me?" he said.

"No, sir," answered Grit.

"I flatter myself you had done me the honor to call upon me," said Johnson, seating himself at a little distance from our hero.

"I came to see Mr. Solomon Weaver, from whom I received a letter," explained Grit. "If this is your house I may have made a mistake in the number."

"Not at all," answered Johnson. "Mr. Weaver is a friend of mine."

"Does he live here?"

"Oh, yes," said Johnson, smiling.

"He wrote me that he wished to send me on a Western trip."

"That's all right."

"Then the letter was genuine," said Grit, hoping that things might turn out right after all.

Could it be possible, he thought, that Colonel Johnson was the friend who had recommended him? It did not seem at all probable, but in his bewilderment he did not know what to think.

"Can I see Mr. Weaver?" asked Grit, desirous of putting an end to his uncertainty.

"Presently," answered Colonel Johnson. "He is busy just at present, but he deputed me to speak with you."

This was all very surprising, but would probably soon be explained.

"I shall be glad to answer any questions," said Grit.

"I suppose you can present good recommendations, as the position is a responsible one," said Johnson, with a half smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Whom, for instance?"

"Mr. Graves, president of the Chester Bank," said Grit.

Knowing what he did of Colonel Johnson's attempt upon the bank, it was perhaps a rather odd choice to make, but the young boatman thought it might help him to discover whether Johnson knew anything of his recent employment by the bank.

"I have heard of Mr. Graves," said Johnson. "Has he ever employed you?"

"Yes, sir."

"In what capacity?" demanded Johnson searchingly.

"He sent me to this city with a package."

"What did the package contain?"

"I think it contained bonds."

"Haven't they a regular bank messenger?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's his name?"

"Ephraim Carver."

"Why was he not employed? Why should you be sent in his place?"

"I think you had better ask Mr. Graves," said Grit independently.

"Why? Don't you know?"

"Even if I did I should consider that I had no right to tell."

"You are a very conscientious and honorable young man," said Johnson sneeringly.

"Thank you, sir," returned Grit, choosing not to show that he understood the sneer.

"Where is your stepfather?" inquired Johnson, changing the subject abruptly.

"In Portland."

"How do you know?"

"I met him in the street while on my way through the city."

"Did you speak with him?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did he say?" asked Johnson suspiciously.

"He wished to borrow twenty-five cents," answered Grit, with a smile.

"Did you lend it to him?"

"Yes."

"Very dutiful, on my word!"

"I have no feeling of that sort for Mr. Brandon," said Grit frankly. "I thought it the easiest way to get rid of him."

Johnson changed the subject again.

"Is Ephraim Carver likely to lose his situation as bank messenger?" he asked.

"I think you had better ask Mr. Graves," said Grit, on his guard.

Johnson frowned, for he did not like Grit's independence.

"It is reported that you are intriguing for his position," he continued.

"That is not true."

"Do you think there is any likelihood of your being appointed in his place?"

"No, sir; I never dreamed of it."

"Yet there is a possibility of it. Don't suppose that I am particularly interested in this Carver. So far as I am concerned, I should not object to your succeeding him."

"What does all this mean?" thought Grit.

"If you should do so, I might have a proposal to make to you that would be to your advantage."

Knowing what he did, Grit very well understood what was meant. Johnson, no doubt, wished to hire him to betray the confidence reposed in him by the bank, and deliver up any valuable package entrusted to him for a money consideration. Like any right-minded and honorable boy, Grit felt that the very hint of such a thing was an insult to him, and his face flushed with indignation. For the moment he forgot his prudence.

"I don't think there is the least chance of my getting such a position," he said; "but even if I did, it would not do you any good to make me a proposal."

"How do you know what sort of a proposal I should make?" demanded Johnson keenly.

"I don't know," answered Grit, emphasizing the last word.

"It appears to me, young man, that you are a little ahead of time," said Johnson. "You shouldn't crow too soon."

"I think I will bid you good evening," said Grit, rising.

"Why so soon? You haven't seen Mr. Weaver."

"On the whole, I don't think I should wish to engage with him."

Our hero felt that if Mr. Weaver were a friend of the man before him, it would be safest to have nothing to do with him. On the principle that a man is known by the company he keeps, the friend of Colonel Johnson could hardly be a desirable person to serve.

"You seem to be in a hurry, especially as you have not seen my friend Weaver."

"You will be kind enough to explain to him that I have changed my plans," said Grit.

"Resume your seat for five minutes," said Johnson, "and I will call Weaver. You had better see him for yourself."

"Very well, sir."

He reflected that merely seeing Mr. Weaver would not commit him to anything.

Colonel Johnson rose to his feet, and placed his foot firmly on a particular spot in the floor.

To Grit's dismay, the floor seemed to sink beneath him, and chair and all were lowered a dozen feet into a subterranean cavity, too quickly for him to help himself.

He realized that the chair so conveniently placed in the center of the apartment rested on a trap-door.