“No.”

“Was Slade about when you left the tavern?”

“I saw nothing of him.”

“What Judge Hammond fears may be all too true—­that, in the present condition of Willy’s affairs, which have reached the point of disaster, his tempter means to secure the largest possible share of property yet in his power to pledge or transfer,—­to squeeze from his victim the last drop of blood that remains, and then fling him, ruthlessly, from his hands.”

“The young man must have been rendered almost desperate, or he would never have returned, as he did, last night.  Did you mention this to his father?”

“No.  It would have distressed him the more, without effecting any good.  He is wretched enough.  But time passes, and none is to be lost now.  Will you go with me?”

I walked to the tavern with him; and we went into the bar together.  Two or three men were at the counter, drinking.

“Is Mr. Green about this morning?” was asked by the person who had come in search of young Hammond.

“Haven’t seen any thing of him.”

“Is he in his room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you ascertain for me?”

“Certainly.  Frank,”—­and he spoke to the landlord’s son, who was lounging on a settee,—­“I wish you would see if Mr. Green is in his room.”

“Go and see yourself.  I’m not your waiter,” was growled back, in an ill-natured voice.

“In a moment I’ll ascertain for you,” said Matthew, politely.

After waiting on some new customers, who were just entering, Matthew went up-stairs to obtain the desired information.  As he left the bar-room, Frank got up and went behind the counter, where he mixed himself a glass of liquor, and drank it off, evidently with real enjoyment.

“Rather a dangerous business for one so young as you are,” remarked the gentleman with whom I had come, as Frank stepped out of the bar, and passed near where we were standing.  The only answer to this was an ill-natured frown, and an expression of face which said almost as plainly as words, “It is none of your business.”

“Not there,” said Matthew, now coming in.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, sir.”

But there was a certain involuntary hesitation in the bar-keeper’s manner, which led to a suspicion that his answer was not in accordance with the truth.  We walked out together, conferring on the subject, and both concluded that his word was not to be relied upon.

“What is to be done?” was asked.

“Go to Green’s room,” I replied, “and knock at the door.  If he is there, he may answer, not suspecting your errand.”

“Show me the room.”

I went up with him, and pointed out No. 11.  He knocked lightly, but there came no sound from within.  He repeated the knock; all was silent.  Again and again he knocked, but there came back only a hollow reverberation.