So far as Frank could observe, Mr. Haynes was an active, energetic salesman. He appeared to understand his duties thoroughly, and to go about them in a straightforward manner. So far as his personal habits were concerned, they seemed irreproachable. He was neatly but plainly dressed, wore no jewelry, and carried a plain silver watch, which, when new, probably did not cost over twenty dollars.

Frank had no difficulty in ascertaining where he lived. It was in a brick house, on Waverley place, very unpretentious and certainly not fashionable. In order to find out how much he paid for his accommodations Frank visited the house on pretence of being in search of board.

"We have a hall bed-room on the third floor, at five dollars a week, including board," said the landlady. "How would that suit you?"

"I may have a friend board with me," said Frank. "In that case we should need a large room. Have you any vacant?"

"There is the front room on the third floor. We would let it to two gentlemen at eleven dollars for the two."

"Isn't the back room cheaper?" inquired our hero.

"Yes; but it is occupied by a business gentleman."

"Can you tell me his name? I may be acquainted with him."

"His name is Haynes."

"How much does he pay?"

"He pays eight dollars a week, and has the room alone."

"I suppose his room is not likely to become vacant soon?"

"Oh, dear, no. He has been with us for several years. We should be sorry to lose him. Last Christmas he gave my daughter a present of a nice silk-dress pattern."

Frank was struck by this information.

"I don't believe he paid anything for the silk," thought he. "I wish I could find out."

He had learned all he cared for, and left, saying he might call again.

"His expenses seem very moderate for a man in his position," thought Frank. "I wonder if he makes any investments."

Fortune favored our hero in the prosecution of his inquiry. Keeping Haynes in sight, as was his custom, he observed that the latter, in pulling out a handkerchief from the breast-pocket of his coat, had brought with it a letter also. Frank, quickly and unobserved, picked it up, and when he was alone looked at the address. It was directed to James Haynes, at his residence in Waverley place. On the envelope was the printed address of a real-estate broker in Brooklyn.

Frank knew that there was at that time considerable speculation in Brooklyn real estate, and he examined the letter. It ran thus:—

"I wonder how much he gave," said Frank to himself.

The letter was signed "Henderson & Co., No. — Fulton street."

Our hero was elated by the discovery he had made, and he sought an interview with Mr. Hartley.

"Have you discovered anything?" asked the merchant, noticing the eager look of his young detective.

Without attaching especial importance to the fact, Frank answered, "I have found out that Mr. Haynes owns a house in Brooklyn."

"Indeed!" said Hartley, quickly. "But," he continued more slowly, "he might buy one with the money saved from his salary."

"He is also thinking of buying some lots near Prospect Park."

"How did you learn this?" asked the merchant, surprised.

"I would rather not tell you," said Frank, who was not quite sure whether Mr. Hartley would sanction his examination of a private letter. "You may be sure that it is true."

"Very well; I will rest contented with that assurance. I will leave you to work in your own way. Your information is important, for it seems to show that Mr. Haynes has made investments beyond his ability, if he were dependent upon his savings alone."

"That is what I thought," said Frank. "I must try to find out where he gets this extra money."

"If you do that, and prove my suspicions correct, I will make you a handsome present, besides paying the company regular rates for your services."

"Thank you, sir. I will try to earn your gifts."