“What sent him here, I wonder?” muttered Slade, speaking partly to himself, and partly aside to Matthew, the bar-keeper.

“After the boys, I suppose,” was answered.

“I guess the boys are old enough to take care of themselves.”

“They ought to be,” returned Matthew.

“And are,” said Slade.  “Have they been here this evening?”

“No, not yet.”

While they yet talked together, two young men whom I had seen on the night before, and noticed particularly as showing signs of intelligence and respectability beyond the ordinary visitors at a bar-room, came in.

“John,” I heard Slade say, in a low, confidential voice, to one of them, “your old man was here just now.”

“No!” The young man looked startled—­almost confounded.

“It’s a fact.  So you’d better keep shady.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.  He just came in, looked around, and then went out.”

“His face was as dark as a thunder-cloud,” remarked Matthew.

“Is No. 4 vacant?” inquired one of the young men.

“Yes.”

“Send us up a bottle of wine and some cigars.  And when Bill Harding and Harry Lee come in, tell them where they can find us.”

“All right,” said Matthew.  “And now, take a friend’s advice and make yourselves scarce.”

The young men left the room hastily.  Scarcely had they departed, ere I saw the same gentleman come in, whose anxious face had, a little while before, thrown its shadow over the apartment.  He was the father in search of his sons.  Again he glanced around nervously; and this time appeared to be disappointed.  As he entered, Slade went out.

“Have John and Wilson been here this evening?” he asked, coming up to the bar and addressing Matthew.

“They are not here;” replied Matthew, evasively.

“But haven’t they been here?”

“They may have been here; I only came in from my supper a little while ago.”

“I thought I saw them entering, only a moment or two ago.”

“They’re not here, sir.”  Matthew shook his head and spoke firmly.

“Where is Mr. Slade?”

“In the house, somewhere.”

“I wish you would ask him to step here.”

Matthew went out, but in a little while came back with word that the landlord was not to be found.

“You are sure the boys are not here?” said the man, with a doubting, dissatisfied manner.

“See for yourself, Mr. Harrison!”

“Perhaps they are in the parlor?”

“Step in, sir,” coolly returned Matthew.  The man went through the door into the sitting-room, but came back immediately.

“Not there?” said Matthew.  The man shook his head.  “I don’t think you’ll find them about here,” added the bar-keeper.