which he lived was built of gray stone,
one tall story in height, and crowned with a French roof. It was
beautified by a wide door in front with colonial pillars and porch. The
windows were tall, to which iron shutters were attached. The ground on
which this building stood had been bought immediately after the
conflagration of 1852, when Saint Mary's Ward was almost obliterated.
From that date each year had increased the value of all property in this
part of the city, so that this property alone, having five acres, would
have placed its owner among the well-to-do citizens of the community. But
this property was only a small portion of the holdings of Abram McLain. A
unique building was this cottage.

Two skilled mechanics had been brought from Quebec, and no one was
permitted to see their work nor to learn what they were doing. Their
work was to be in the basement, which had been excavated ten feet deep,
the massive walls reaching down until they rested upon solid rock. The
building was seventy-five feet square. A furnace occupied the center of
the basement. Next, in front, was a beautiful office, finished in
hardwood, exquisitely polished, and furnished with most modern
furniture. In the rear of this office was a smaller room, the walls of
which were incased with steel plates, supposed to be both burglar-proof
and fire-proof. This room contained a safe having no opening except the
door into the office. It would never have been taken for anything but a
closet convenient to the main office; but the door was solid iron, the
lock of which none but the owner could manipulate. A reception or
smoking room, which Mr. McLain called his den, was on the other side of
the hallway--a cozy and yet elaborately furnished room, containing
tables, sofas, and easy chairs, where the owner could meet his friends
for business or pleasure.

Mr. McLain's father, a sturdy and sagacious Scotchman, had landed in
Canada when Abram was about ten years of age, and began in earnest to
win at least a living, if not a fortune, in this sparsely settled city,
which at that time was hardly worthy the name of a city, although its
thoroughgoing citizens had procured a city charter. Mr. McLain by
earnest long-sightedness and industry succeeded in becoming a well-to-do
citizen. Unfortunately, Mr. McLain invested most of his savings in a
large banking institution, located on McGill Street--The Montreal
National Bank--which a few months later was consumed in