I heard that the man who lived in that
big mansion was rich, and I thought he might want a private secretary,
or a stenographer and typewriter. I learned who lived there, but when
I inquired at the place an old woman said Mr. Stockton had gone away."
"I believe he has, but there seems to be something queer about it,"
said Bert. "No one saw him go, and, though he never used to be seen
much around the village, still we did have occasional glimpses of him.
Now no one has seen him for some time."
"So it appears. But the old woman--Blarcum, she said her name was--
called a young man to talk to me. He was Alfred Muchmore, Mr.
Stockton's nephew, and, after I had told him what I could do, he
engaged me."
"I didn't think he had any work you could do," said Bert, recalling
the rumor he had heard, that Muchmore was a professional gambler.
"Well, he has quite a lot of business papers to copy, and I am doing
that for him. He pays me well. Still, I can't say that I altogether
like the place."
"Why not?"
Mort Decker came closer to Herbert, though no one was then near them,
the boys of the department being too interested in cleaning the
engine, refilling it, and putting it in the barn, to pay attention to
anything else.
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