It was the other's turn to looked confused.

"At--the Smiths'," he answered, at random.

"At Mrs. Roxana Smith's?" suggested Ben.

"Yes, yes," said the other eagerly, "she is my aunt."

"Is she?" asked Ben, with a smile of amusement, for he had by this
time made up his mind as to the character of his new friend. "She
must be proud of her stylish nephew. Mrs. Smith is a poor widow, and
takes in washing."

"It's some other Smith," said the young man, discomfited.

"She is the only one by that name in Pentonville."

Jim Fisher, as he called himself, turned upon his heel and left Ben
without a word. It was clear that nothing could be made out of him.

Ben walked all the way up Broadway, as far as Twenty-first Street,
into which he turned, and walked eastward until he reached Gramercy
Park, opposite which Lexington Avenue starts. In due time he reached
the house of Mr. Absalom Peters, and, ascending the steps, he rang the
bell.

"Is Mr. Peters in?" he asked of the servant who answered the bell.

"No."