"Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. It

was his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through the

library in broad daylight, and it wasn't any use, anyhow.

There's nothing there."

"But I don't like the looks of this shooting. Morgan's

sick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morgan

isn't likely to shoot himself accidentally, and now

that it's done the work's stopped and the time is running

on. What do you think Glenarm suspects?"

"I can't tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. The

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shot through the window the first night he was here

seemed to shake him a trifle, but he's quite settled down

now, I should say, sir."

"He probably doesn't spend much time on this side

of the fence-doesn't haunt the chapel, I fancy?"

"Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentleman

of being a praying man."

"You haven't seen him prowling about analyzing the

architecture-"

"Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn't, I should say, what

his revered grandfather called the analytical mind."

Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion by

your own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing for

the spirit. The man who stands behind your chair may

acquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mental

processes by a diligent study of the back of your

head. But I was not half so angry with these conspirators

as with myself, for ever having entertained a single

generous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consoling

to know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, and

that my own exploits in the house were unknown to the

executor.

Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porch

floor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked a

conclusion, and preluded serious statements.

"Now, Bates," he said, with a ring of authority and

speaking in a louder key than he had yet used, "it's

your duty under all the circumstances to help discover

the hidden assets of the estate. We've got to pluck the

mystery from that architectural monster over there, and

the time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm was

a rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple of

millions, and he couldn't have spent it all on that house.

He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollars

and swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom before

his last trip into Vermont. He didn't die with the

stuff in his clothes, did he?"

"Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enough

cash to bury him, with you out of the country and me

alone with him."

"He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfaction

out of concealing his money. But this hunt for it

isn't funny. I supposed, of course, we'd dig it up before

Glenarm got here or I shouldn't have been in such

a hurry to send for him. But it's over there somewhere,

or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the house

that would help. I'll give you a thousand dollars the

day you wire me you have found any sort of clue."




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