Sam Pepper was taking it easy at the rear of his resort on the evening of the day when Gertrude went to Lakewood, when the door opened and a messenger boy came in.

"Is Sam Pepper here?" asked the boy, approaching Bolton.

"That's my handle, sonny. What do you want?"

"Here's a message. I was to wait for an answer."

Pepper took the message and read it with interest.

"Friend Pepper: Meet me to-night between eleven and twelve o'clock at my apartments. Something important. Bring those old papers with you. I have the cash.

"H. B."

"Humph! so Bulson wants to close that deal to-night," muttered Sam Pepper, as he tore the message to shreds. "He's in a tremendous hurry, all at once. I wonder what's new in the wind? Well, I'm low on cash, and I might as well take him up now as later on."

"Where's the answer?" asked the messenger boy.

"Here you are," returned Pepper, and scribbled a reply on a slip of paper. Then the messenger received his pay and made off.

Promptly on time that night Sam Pepper went up Fifth Avenue. Just as he reached Homer Bulson's home the young man came down the steps.

"Come with me—the house is full of company," he said. "I want to talk to you where we will be free from interruption."

"I'm agreeable," answered Pepper.

The pair walked rapidly down a side street. Homer Bulson seemed ill at ease, and Pepper noticed it.

"You are not yourself to-night," he said.

"I've got lots to think about," growled Bulson.

"Still mad because the girl won't have you, I suppose."

"No, I've given her up. I don't want a wife that won't love me."

"That's where you are sensible."

"Gertrude can go her way and I'll go mine."

"Well, you'll have the softest snap of it," laughed Pepper. "She'll get nothing but hard knocks."

"That's her own fault."

"She don't make more than half a living, teaching the piano."

"Oh, if she gets too hard up, I'll send her some money," responded Bulson, trying to affect a careless manner.

"By your talk you must be pretty well fixed."

"I struck a little money yesterday, Pepper—that's why I sent to you. I want to go away to-morrow, and I wanted to clear up that—er—that little affair of the past before I left."

"What do you want?"

"I want all those papers you once showed me, and if you have that will I want that, too."

"You don't want much." And Sam Pepper laughed suggestively.

"Those papers will never do you any good."

"They might."

"I don't see how?"

"The boy might pay more for them than you'll pay."

"He? If he knew the truth, he'd have you arrested on the spot."

"Don't be so sure of that, Bulson. I know the lad better than you do. He has a tender heart—far more tender than you have."

"Well, if it's a question of price, how much do you want?" demanded Homer Bulson sourly.

"I want five thousand dollars cash."

"Five thousand! Pepper, have you gone crazy?"

"No; I'm as sane as you are."

"You ask a fortune."

"If that's a fortune, what's the amount you expect to gain? Old Horton is worth over a hundred thousand, if he's worth a cent."

"But I'm not sure of this fortune yet. He's a queer old fellow. He might cut me off at the last minute."

"Not if you had that will. You could date that to suit yourself, and you'd push your game through somehow."

"I can give you two thousand dollars—not a dollar more."

"It's five thousand or nothing," responded Sam Pepper doggedly.

"Will you accept my check?"

"No; I want the cash."

"That means you won't trust me!" cried Bulson, in a rage.

"Business is business."

Homer Bulson breathed hard. The pair were on a side street, close to where a new building was being put up. The young man paused.

"You're a hard-hearted fellow, Pepper," he said. "You take the wind out of my sails. I've got to have a drink on that. Come, though. I don't bear a grudge. Drink with me."

As he spoke he pulled a flask from his pocket and passed it over.

"I'll drink with you on one condition," answered Pepper. "And that is that I get my price."

"All right; it's high, but you shall have it."

Without further ado Sam Pepper opened the flask and took a deep draught of the liquor inside.

"Phew! but that's pretty hot!" he murmured, as he smacked his lips. "Where did you get it?"

"At the club—the highest-priced stuff we have," answered Bulson. Then he placed the flask to his own lips and pretended to swallow a like portion to that taken by his companion, but touched scarcely a drop.

"It's vile—I sell better than that for ten cents," continued Pepper.

"Let us sit down and get to business," went on Bulson, leading the way into the unfinished building. "I want to make sure that you have everything I want. I am not going to pay five thousand dollars for a blind horse."

"I'm square," muttered Sam Pepper. "When I make a deal I carry it out to the letter."

"You have everything that proves the boy's identity?"

"Everything."

"Then sit down, and I'll count out the money."

"It's—rather—dark—in—here," mumbled Sam Pepper, as he began to stagger.

"Oh, no! it must be your eyesight."

"Hang—me—if I—can—see—at—all," went on Pepper, speaking in a lower and lower tone. "I—that is—Bulson, you—you have drugged me, you—you villain!" And then he pitched forward and lay in a heap where he had fallen.

Homer Bulson surveyed his victim with gloating eyes. "He never sold better knock-out drops to any crook he served," he muttered. "Now I shall see what he has got in his pockets."

Bending over his victim, he began to search Sam Pepper's pockets. Soon he came across a thick envelope filled with letters and papers. He glanced over several of the sheets.

"All here," he murmured. "This is a lucky strike. Now Sam Pepper can whistle for his money."

He placed the things he had taken in his own pocket and hurried to the street.

Nobody had noticed what was going on, and he breathed a long sigh of relief.

"He won't dare to give me away," he said to himself. "If he does he'll go to prison for stealing the boy in the first place. And he'll never be able to prove that I drugged him because nobody saw the act. Yes, I am safe."

It did not take Homer Bulson long to reach his bachelor apartments, and once in his rooms he locked the door carefully.

Then, turning up a gas lamp, he sat down near it, to look over the papers he had taken from the insensible Pepper.

"I'll destroy the letters," he said. He smiled as he read one. "So Uncle Mark offered five thousand for the return of little David, eh? Well, it's lucky for me that Sam Pepper, alias Pepperill Sampson, didn't take him up. I reckon Pepper was too cut up over his discharge, for it kept him from getting another fat job." He took up the will. "Just what I want. Now, if Uncle Mark makes another will, I can always crop up with this one, and make a little trouble for somebody."

He lit the letters one by one, and watched them turn slowly to ashes. Then he placed the other papers in the bottom of his trunk, among his books on poisons, and went to bed.