seem to mind
it.

By this time the general curiosity was aroused.

"Who is this rich man you're talkin' about, Trafton?" asked Sam
Cummings.

"The hermit of the cliff," answered the fisherman.

There was a general rustle of surprise.

"What reason have you for saying that?" asked Mr. Jones, the landlord.

By this time, however, John Trafton began to suspects that he had been
imprudent and he answered with a mysterious shake of the head:

"I've no call to tell you that, but I've got my reasons."

"Can't you tell us, John?" asked Ben Barton.

"I might, but I won't; but I stand by what I've said."

"Doesn't your boy do errands for the hermit?" asked the landlord.

"Suppose he does?"

"And he goes into the hermit's cave?"

"Perhaps he does and perhaps he doesn't."

"I know he does, for I was on the beach a day or two ago and I see him
a-climbin' the ladder and goin' in," said Ben Barton.

"You'll have to ask him about that," said the fisherman.

"Whereabouts is his cave?" asked the stranger, who had listened intently
to what had been said.

One of the party described its location fully.

"Then I've seen it," said the other. "I was walking on the beach this
morning and I wondered what the ladder was for."

He asked various questions about the hermit and his mode of life, which
excited no wonder, as the curiosity about the hermit was shared by all.

John Trafton allowed himself to say one thing more that increased this
feeling.

"I won't tell all I know," he said, "but I can tell you this hermit
lives like a prince. He's got handsomer furniture than there is in any
house in Cook's Harbor."

No one had told the fisherman this, but he knew the statement would make
a sensation and chose to embellish what he had heard from Robert.

"That's a strange idea to furnish a cave that way," said the stranger.

"It may be strange, but it's true."

"Do you think he keeps a good deal of money by him?" asked the stranger
with evident interest.

John Trafton nodded significantly.

The conversation now drifted into other channels. The stranger ordered
another glass of whisky and went out.

"Where is that man staying?" asked Cummings.

"Not here," answered the landlord. "I don't like his looks and don't
care where he stays as long as he don't ask for a room here."

"You don't mind selling him drink, landlord?"

"Not as long as he's got money to pay. That's a different matter."

A few minutes later John