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Marcus nervously said, "Good morning," and stepped forward
to shake him by the hand, but stopped when he saw that Mr. Minford
averted his face, and did not move.
"I wished to show you a letter which I received a few minutes ago," said
the inventor, still not facing Marcus, but busily filing off the rough
edge of a brass wheel fresh from the mould. "There it is, on the table."
Marcus caught up the letter, and read the following:
NEW YORK, Wednesday Forenoon.
MR. MINFORD:
RESPECTED SIR: Allow a true friend and well wisher to ask a
few questions. Who is this Mr. Marcus Wilkeson that has
suddenly taken such an interest in your family affairs? What
is his private history? Why is he relieving you from all
trouble and expense in the education of your beautiful child?
What are the man's _real_ motives? Would it not be well to
spare your eyes from your invention long enough to look into
these matters a little? Pardon the suggestion. The office of
a spy, and a secret accuser, is an unpleasant, and, perhaps,
a thankless one.


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