The squire led the way into a comfortable sitting room, and his rough
visitor followed him. By the light of an astral lamp Squire Davenport
looked at him.

"Did I ever see you before?" he asked.

"Probably not."

"Then I don't see what business we can have together. I am tired, and
wish to go to bed."

"I'll come to business at once, then. When John Barclay died in
Chicago, a wallet was found in his pocket, and in that wallet was a
promissory note for a thousand dollars, signed by you. I suppose you
have paid that sum to the widow?"

Squire Davenport was the picture of dismay. He had meanly ignored the
note, with the intention of cheating Mrs. Barclay. He had supposed it
was lost, yet here, after some years, appeared a man who knew of it.
As Mr. Barclay had been reticent about his business affairs, he had
never told his wife about having deposited this sum with Squire
Davenport, and of this fact the squire had meanly taken advantage.

"What proof have you of this strange and improbable story?" asked the
squire, after a nervous pause.

"The best of proof," answered the tramp promptly. "The note was found
and is now in existence."