Sitting down, and taking to himself his usual solace, and smoking furiously for a while, he said:  “D—–­n!” Into this one favorite and familiar expletive he poured his anger, his vexation, and his fear.  He believed at the moment that the inventor was alive.  He believed that if he had been dead his boy would, in some way, have revealed the fact.  Was he still insane?  Had he powerful friends?  It certainly appeared so.  Otherwise, how could the lad be where he had discovered him?  Was it rational to suppose that he was far from his father?  Was it rational to suppose that the lad’s friends were not equally the friends of the inventor?  How could he know that Robert Belcher himself had not unwittingly come to the precise locality where he would be under constant surveillance?  How could he know that a deeply laid plot was not already at work to undermine and circumvent him?  The lad’s reticence, determined and desperate, showed that he knew the relations that existed between his father and the proprietor, and seemed to show that he had acted under orders.

Something must be done to ascertain the residence of Paul Benedict, if still alive, or to assure him of his death, if it had occurred.  Something must be done to secure the property which he was rapidly accumulating.  Already foreign Governments were considering the advantages of the Belcher rifle, as an arm for the military service, and negotiations were pending with more than one of them.  Already his own Government, then in the first years of its great civil war, had experimented with it, with the most favorable results.  The business was never so promising as it then appeared, yet it never had appeared so insecure.

In the midst of his reflections, none of which were pleasant, and in a sort of undefined dread of the consequences of his indiscretions in connection with Harry Benedict, the bell rang, and Mr. and Mrs. Talbot were announced.  The factor and his gracious lady were in fine spirits, and full of their congratulations over the safe removal of the family to their splendid mansion.  Mrs. Talbot was sure that Mrs. Belcher must feel that all the wishes of her heart were gratified.  There was really nothing like the magnificence of the mansion.  Mrs. Belcher could only say that it was all very fine, but Mr. Belcher, finding himself an object of envy, took great pride in showing his visitors about the house.

Mrs. Talbot, who in some way had ascertained that Mrs. Dillingham had superintended the arrangement of the house, said, in an aside to Mrs. Belcher:  “It must have been a little lonely to come here and find no one to receive you—­no friend, I mean.”

“Mrs. Dillingham was here,” remarked Mrs. Belcher, quietly.

“But she was no friend of yours.”

“No; Mr. Belcher had met her.”

“How strange!  How very strange!”

“Do you know her well?”

“I’m afraid I do; but now, really, I hope you won’t permit yourself to be prejudiced against her.  I suppose she means well, but she certainly does the most unheard-of things.  She’s a restless creature—­not quite right, you know, but she has been immensely flattered.  She’s an old friend of mine, and I don’t join the hue and cry against her at all, but she does such imprudent things!  What did she say to you?”