“Well, have you found out who they are?” demanded the rich youth, impatiently.

“No, Ned, but I am sure of one thing.”

“What is that?”

“They are two bad men.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They said something about having to get out of the city, and one spoke about being nabbed.  Evidently they went away to avoid arrest.”

At this announcement Ned Talmadge whistled softly to himself.

“Phew!  What shall we do about it?” he asked, with a look of concern on his usually passive face.

Joe shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Let us listen to what they have to say.  Maybe we’ll strike some clew to what they have been doing.”

“Would that be fair—­to play the eaves-dropper?”

“Certainly—­if they are evildoers.  Anybody who has done wrong ought to be locked up for it,” went on Ned boldly.

With caution the two boys made their way to the narrow window, and Ned looked in as Joe had done.  The backs of the two men were still towards the opening, so the lads were not discovered.

“What is this new game?” they heard the man called Malone ask, after a peal of thunder had rolled away among the mountains.

“It’s the old game of a sick miner with some valuable stocks to sell,” answered Gaff Caven.

“Have you got the stocks?”

“To be sure—­one thousand shares of the Blue Bell Mine, of Montana, said to be worth exactly fifty thousand dollars.”

“Phew!  You’re flying high, Gaff!” laughed Pat Malone.

“And why not, so long as I sell the stocks?”

“What did they cost you?”

“Well, they didn’t cost me fifty thousand dollars,” and Gaff Caven closed one eye suggestively.

“You bet they didn’t!  More than likely they didn’t cost you fifty dollars.”

“What, such elegantly engraved stocks as those?”

“Pooh!  I can buy a bushel-basket full of worthless stocks for a dollar,” came from Pat Malone.  “But that isn’t here nor there.  I go into the deal if you give me my fair share of the earnings.”

“I’ll give you one-third, Pat, and that’s a fair share, I think.”

“Why not make it half?”

“Because I’ll do the most of the work.  It’s no easy matter to find a victim.”  And Gaff Caven laughed broadly.  He had a good-appearing face, but his eyes were small and not to be trusted.

“All right, I’ll go in for a third then.  But how soon is the excitement to begin?”

“Oh, in a week or so.  I’ve got the advertisements in the papers already.”

“Not in New York?”

“No, it’s Philadelphia this time.  Perhaps I’ll land one of our Quaker friends.”

“Don’t be so sure.  The Quakers may be slow but they generally know what they are doing.”

More thunder interrupted the conversation at this point, and when it was resumed the two men talked in such low tones that only an occasional word could be caught by the two boys.