After leaving George Van Pelt Nelson felt more like working, and buying a large supply of evening papers he was soon hard at it, crying his wares as loudly as possible.

Business proved brisk, and by seven o'clock he had sold out. Then he went back to the lunch-room.

Sam Pepper met him with a scowl.

"Concluded to come back after all, eh?" he said. "Work piling up on me and nobody to help. Pitch in, quick, or I'll thrash you good; do you hear?"

The rest of the evening passed in almost utter silence between them. By ten o'clock the most of the lunch trade came to an end. At eleven Sam Pepper began to lock up.

"I'm going out," he said. "An old friend is sick. Maybe I won't be back till morning. Watch things good while I'm gone."

"Who is sick?" asked our hero.

"None of your business. You mind what I told you, and keep your mouth closed," growled the lunch-room keeper.

Nelson had noticed a heavy handbag lying in the corner of the back room, and now he saw Sam Pepper pick the bag up. As the man moved it, something inside struck together with a hard, metallic sound, as if the bag might contain tools.

When Sam Pepper went out he wore a big slouch hat and a coat which he had not donned for years. He usually wore a derby hat, and his general appearance surprised the newsboy not a little.

"He acts as if he wanted to be disguised," thought the boy. "Something is up, sure."

Then of a sudden he remembered the talk he had had with Pepper about robbing an old man—the man who had in some way been connected with his father's downfall, if Pepper's story was true. Was it possible Pepper was going to undertake the job that very night, and alone?

"I believe he is!" thought Nelson. "And if that's so, I'll follow him!"

With the boy, to think was to act, and in a few minutes he was prepared to follow Sam Pepper. The man had locked the front door and taken the key with him. Nelson slipped out of a rear window and fastened the window from the outside by means of a nail shoved into a hole in a corner—a trick he had learned some time before.

When the boy came out on the street he ran up the thoroughfare for a couple of blocks, and was just in time to see Sam Pepper making his way up the stairs of the elevated railroad station. When the train came along Pepper entered the front car, and our hero took the car behind it. Nelson buttoned up his coat and pulled his hat far down over his eyes to escape recognition, but Sam Pepper never once looked around to see if he was being followed.

Leaving the Bowery, the elevated train continued up Third Avenue until Fifty-ninth Street was reached. Here Sam Pepper got off, and Nelson, who was on the watch, did the same. The man descended to the street and walked slowly toward Fifth Avenue. Our hero followed like a shadow. He was now certain that Pepper was bent on the robbery of the place he had mentioned that afternoon.

Mark Horton's residence stood on the avenue, but a few blocks below Central Park. As Sam Pepper had said, there was an alleyway in the rear, with a small iron fence. Beyond was a small courtyard, and here there was a balcony with an alcove window opening into the library. Over the window was a heavy curtain, which the retired merchant sometimes closed when at the safe, so that curious neighbors might not pry into his affairs. But the neighbors were now away on a vacation in Europe—something which Sam Pepper had noted with considerable satisfaction.

It did not take the man long to climb over the iron fence and on to the little balcony. Noiselessly he tried the window, to find it locked. But the catch was an old-fashioned one, and he readily pushed it aside with a blade of his knife. Then he raised the window inch by inch. At last he had it high enough, and he stepped into the room, behind the heavy curtain before mentioned.

Sam Pepper was hardly in the room when something happened to give him a temporary shock. He heard the scratch of a match, and then a gas jet was lit and turned low in the room.

"I've put my foot into it," he groaned. "Maybe I had better git out as fast as I came in."

Cautiously he peeped from behind the curtain, and to his astonishment saw Homer Bulson approach the safe and kneel down before it. He also saw that Bulson was alone, and that the doors to the other parts of the mansion were tightly closed.

"Something is up that's not on the level," he told himself. "This man don't live here."

Scarcely daring to breathe, he watched Homer Bulson work at the combination of the safe. To get the strong box open was not easy, and soon the fashionable young man uttered a low exclamation of impatience.

"I must have it wrong," Pepper heard him say. "Confound the luck! And I wanted that money to-night, too."

At last the safe came open, and Homer Bulson breathed a sigh of satisfaction. With trembling fingers he pulled open one of the upper drawers.

"Found!" he murmured. "I wonder if I have time to read them over, to make sure they are all right? Uncle is a queer stick and he may have made some mistake."

He brought some documents forth and began to unfold them. Then he reconsidered the matter and placed the papers on a chair beside the safe. In a moment more he had found the gilded knob, pressed upon it, and opened the secret compartment at the bottom of the strong box.

The sight that met his gaze caused his eyes to glisten. There were several stacks of ten- and twenty-dollar gold pieces—at least two thousand dollars in all. Without waiting he placed a large handful of the coins in the outer pocket of his coat.

"I won't take it all—it won't be safe," he murmured. "I can get more some other time—if I need it." Then he shut the compartment.

Sam Pepper had seen the gold, and it set his heart to thumping madly. Here was more wealth than he had seen in many a day—right within his reach. Why had not the young man taken it all?

"He's chicken-hearted and a fool," thought Pepper.

A second later a big fly, awakened by the swinging of the curtain and the light, buzzed close to Pepper's ear and caused him to start. At the same moment Homer Bulson glanced up and caught sight of the other's face.

"Who—what—who are you?" stammered Bulson, leaping to his feet.

"Hush!" cried Sam Pepper warningly. "Hush, unless you want to wake up the whole house."

"But who are you, and where did you come from?"

"Never mind about that. Why didn't you take all of the gold from the safe while you were at it?"

"I—er—what do you know of the gold?" stammered Homer Bulson. He was pale and confused.

"I saw you open the safe and take it. Is that your uncle's money?"

"Ye—yes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"I am going to make this job my business."

"You look like a burglar."

"Well, if I am a burglar, you won't give me away, for you are a burglar yourself."

The shot told, and Homer Bulson became paler than before.

"I reckon we might divide up on this job," went on Sam Pepper with a boldness that was astonishing.

"I don't understand."

"Give me half the gold and I won't say anything about this to anybody."

"And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, perhaps I'll make it mighty unpleasant for you. I know you. You are Homer Bulson, the fashionable nephew of Mark Horton, and the man who expects to come into a good share of his property when he dies."

"And who are you?"

"I am a man who used to be up in the world, but one who is now down on his luck. I want you to help me. If you will, I'll help you."

At this Homer Bulson was a good deal bewildered.

"I don't understand you. I am not of your kind, my man."

At this Sam Pepper gave a contemptuous sniff.

"If you aint, you aint any better," he growled. "Let me tell you I know a thing or two. I didn't come here blindly. I know all about Mark Horton and his niece, and you—and I know a good deal more—about the past. You and that girl expect to get his property. Well, maybe you will, and then, again, maybe you won't."

"And why won't we get his property?" asked Homer Bulson, in deep interest.

"Hush! not so loud, or you'll have the rest of the house down on us," Sam Pepper leaned forward and whispered something into the young man's ear. "There, how do you like that?"

Homer Bulson fell back as if shot.

"You—you speak the truth?" he faltered.

"I do."

"But after all these years! Impossible!"

"It's true, I tell you, and I can prove it—if I want to. But I'm not his friend. Now are you willing to make a deal with me?"

"Yes! yes!" groaned the young man. "First, however, you must prove your words. But that can't be done here. Come to my bachelor apartment, across the way. There we will be perfectly safe."

"All right. But I must have some of that gold first."

"Well, you shall have some—as much as I took, but no more," concluded Homer Bulson, and opened the secret compartment again.