He rang the bell.

“Can I see Mrs. Mason?” he asked.

“What name shall I mention?”

“Say it is a boy from Mr. Flint’s.”

Mrs. Mason received the message in some surprise.  What could a boy from Flint’s have to say to her?

However, she entered the parlor, where John Crandall was waiting to see her.

“You are from Mr. Flint’s?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What business can you have with me?  I have bought no jewelry lately.”

“I know it, Mrs. Mason.  It isn’t about jewelry I wish to speak.”

“What, then?”

“I met, to-day, a boy who was lately employed by our firm—­Andrew Grant.”

“Well?”

“He said you had recommended him to a real estate firm down town.”

“I did so.”

“Perhaps you didn’t know that he had been discharged from our place for dishonesty.”

“I begin to understand,” thought Mrs. Mason, and she sat down and examined John curiously.

“Did he steal anything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered John, glibly.  “He took a watch—­a gold watch out of the case and pawned it.”

“That was bad.  And you have come up to tell me of it?  You are very considerate.  Did Mr. Rich send you, or do you come of your own accord?”

“I came of my own accord.  I thought you were deceived in the boy.”

“What do you think I ought to do?”

“I thought you would take back the recommendation and get the boy discharged.”

“Can you wait here half an hour while I consider what is best to be done?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” ("I guess I’ve put a spoke in his wheel,” thought John.)

In about half an hour the door opened, and to John’s amazement Andy walked in.

“You here!” he gasped.

“Yes; I hear you have been warning Mrs. Mason against me.”

“I thought she ought to know that you were sent away from our store in disgrace.”

“I have something to say to you,” said Andy, quietly.  “I have been to the pawnbroker’s, and got a description of the boy who pawned the watch!”

John turned pale.

“I see you understand,” Andy went on, “who did it.  So do I, and so does Mrs. Mason.  You won’t make anything by your attempt to injure me.  Good-evening!”

John Crandall left the house without a word.  He began to be alarmed.

“Suppose Andy tells Flint,” he soliloquized.  “No matter; he can’t prove it.”

But he felt uneasy, nevertheless.  He did not say anything to his uncle about his visit.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MR. FLINT’S RETURN.

Mr. Crawford was something more than an ordinary real estate dealer.  He was thorough and painstaking in whatever he undertook.

In his private office he had a library of volumes relating to architecture, practical building, real estate, law, etc.  This Andy discovered, and he asked his employer if he might borrow books therefrom.