"Why did they quarrel?"
"It began with a row over pancakes, and wound up with a fight over salt."
She stared incredulously.
"Fact--he said so."
"And what was the brute's name?"
He answered, not too readily: "Why--Bruce Burt."
"And the man he murdered?"
"They called him Slim Naudain."
"Naudain!" Her startled cry made him look at her in wonder. "Naudain! What did they call him beside Slim?"
"Frederick was his given name."
"Freddie!" she whispered, aghast.
Sprudell stared at her, puzzled.
"It must be! The name is too uncommon."
"I don't understand."
"He must have been my brother--my half-brother--my mother was married twice. It is too dreadful!" She stared at Sprudell with wide, shocked eyes.
Sprudell was staring, too, but he seemed more disconcerted than amazed.
"It's hardly likely," he said, reassuringly. "When did you hear from him last?"
"It has been all of twelve years since we heard from him even indirectly. I wrote to him in Silver City, New Mexico, where we were told he was working in a mine. Perhaps he did not get my letter; at least I've tried to think so, for he did not answer."
Indecision, uncertainty, were uppermost among the expressions on Sprudell's face, but the girl did not see them, for her downcast eyes were filled with tears. Finally he said slowly and in a voice curiously restrained.
"Yes, he did receive it and I have it here. It's a very strange coincidence, Miss Dunbar, the most remarkable I have ever known; you will agree when I tell you that my object in coming East was to find you and your mother for the purpose of turning over his belongings--this letter you mention, an old photograph of you and some five hundred dollars in money he left."
"It's something to remember, that at least he kept my letter and my picture." She swallowed hard and bit her lips for self-control. "He was not a good son or a good brother, Mr. Sprudell," she continued with an effort, "but since my father and mother died he's been all I had. And I've made myself believe that at heart he was all right and that when he was older he would think enough of us some time to come home. I've counted on it--on him--more than I realized until now. It is"--she clenched her hands tightly and swallowed hard again--"a blow."
Sprudell replied soothingly "This fellow Burt said his partner thought a lot of you."
"It's strange," Helen looked up reflectively, "that a cold-blooded murderer like that would have turned over my brother's things--would have sent anything back at all."
"I made him," said Sprudell.