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“I don’t understand you,” said Mrs. Catron, in indignant astonishment.

“On the 15th of July,” said the captain, consulting his memorandum-book, “Roger sold his claim at Nye’s Ford for $1,500. Now, le’s see. Thar was nigh on $350 ez he admitted to me he lost at poker, and we’ll add $50 to that for treating, suppers, and drinks gin’rally–put Roger down for $400. Then there was YOU. Now you spent $250 on your trip to ‘Frisco thet summer; then $200 went for them presents you sent your Aunt Jane, and thar was $400 for house expenses. Well, thet foots up $1,250. Now, what’s become of thet other $250?”

Mrs. Catron’s woman’s impulse to retaliate sharply overcame her first natural indignation at her visitor’s impudence.

Therein she lost, woman-like, her ground of vantage.

“Perhaps the woman he fled with can tell you,” she said savagely.

“Thet,” said the captain, slowly, “is a good, a reasonable idee. But it ain’t true; from all I can gather SHE lent HIM money. It didn’t go THAR.”

“Roger Catron left me penniless,” said Mrs. Catron, hotly.

“Thet’s jist what gets me. You oughter have $250 somewhar lying round.”

Mrs. Catron saw her error. “May I ask what right you have to question me? If you have any, I must refer you to my lawyer or my brother-in-law; if you have none, I hope you will not oblige me to call the servants to put you from the house.”

“Thet sounds reasonable and square, too,” said the captain, thoughtfully; “I’ve a power of attorney from Roger Catron to settle up his affairs and pay his debts, given a week afore them detectives handed ye over his dead body. But I thought that you and me might save lawyer’s fees and all fuss and feathers, ef, in a sociable, sad-like way,–lookin’ back sorter on Roger ez you and me once knew him,–we had a quiet talk together.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Mrs. Catron, rising stiffly. The captain hesitated a moment, a slight flush of color came in his face as he at last rose as the lady backed out of the room. “Good morning, ma’am,” said the captain, and departed.

Very little was known of this interview except the general impression in the family that Mrs. Catron had successfully resisted a vague attempt at blackmail from one of her husband’s former dissolute companions. Yet it is only fair to say that Mrs. Catron snapped up, quite savagely, two male sympathizers on this subject, and cried a good deal for two days afterward, and once, in the hearing of her sister-in-law, to that lady’s great horror, “wished she was dead.”

A week after this interview, as Lawyer Phillips sat in his office, he was visited by Macleod. Recognizing, possibly, some practical difference between the widow and the lawyer, Captain Dick this time first produced his credentials,–a “power of attorney.” “I need not tell you,” said Phillips, “that the death of your principal renders this instrument invalid, and I suppose you know that, leaving no will, and no property, his estate has not been administered upon.”

“Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn’t. But I hain’t askin’ for anythin’ but information. There was a bit o’ prop’ty and a mill onto it, over at Heavytree, ez sold for $10,000. I don’t see,” said the captain, consulting his memorandum-book, “ez HE got anything out of it.”

“It was mortgaged for $7,000,” said the lawyer, quickly, “and the interest and fees amount to about $3,000 more.”

“The mortgage was given as security for a note?”

“Yes, a gambling debt,” said the lawyer, sharply.

“Thet’s so, and my belief ez that it wasn’t a square game. He shouldn’t hev given no note. Why, don’t ye mind, ‘way back in ’60, when you and me waz in Marysville, that night that you bucked agin faro, and lost seving hundred dollars, and then refoosed to take up your checks, saying it was fraud and a gambling debt? And don’t ye mind when that chap kicked ye, and I helped to drag him off ye–and–“