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“Mr. Hall,” said Gerald, dropping into the spare chair in the attorney’s private room, “I want to ask you a few questions about that Marysville land case.”

“Fire ahead, my boy; I can give you twenty minutes,” answered the lawyer, who was disposed to make a great deal more of the victory he had won than the newspapers had hitherto done, and who was consequently by no means averse from an interview. “What do you want to know?”

“Hard fight, wasn’t it?” asked the journalist.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Hall, “tough in a way; but we had right on our side as well as possession. A good lawyer ought always to win when he has those; to beat law and facts and everything else is harder scratching; though I’ve done that too,” and the old gentleman chuckled as if well satisfied with himself.

“That’s what your opponents had to do here, I suppose?” remarked Gerald, echoing the other’s laugh.

“Pretty much, only they didn’t do it,” said the lawyer.

“I met Vincenza when he was down last month,” pursued Gerald. “He seems a decentish sort of a fellow for a greaser.”

“He’s no greaser; he’s a pure-blooded Castilian, and very much of the gentleman,” answered Hall.

“So I found him,” said Gerald. “I only used the ‘greaser’ as a generic term. He talks English as well as I do.”

“That’s a great compliment from an Irishman,” remarked Mr. Hall with another chuckle.

“I suppose the sister’s just as nice in her own way,” went on Gerald, seeing an opportunity to satisfy a certain curiosity he had felt about the heiress since he first heard of her existence. “Did she make a good witness?”

“Who? What sister? What the deuce are you talking about?” asked the lawyer.

“Why, Vincenza’s sister, half-sister, whatever she is. I understood from him that she was the real owner of the property.”

“Oh, ay, to be sure,” said Mr. Hall slowly; “these details escape one. Vincenza was my client; he acts for the girl under power of attorney, and really her name has hardly come up since the very beginning of the case.”

“You didn’t see her, then?” said Gerald, conscious of a vague sense of disappointment.

“See her?” repeated the lawyer. “No; how could I? She’s in Europe for educational advantages–at a convent somewhere, I believe.”

“Oh,” said Gerald, “a child, is she? I had fancied, I don’t know why, that she was a grown-up young lady.”

“I couldn’t tell you what her age is, but it must be over twenty- one or she couldn’t have executed the power of attorney, and that was looked into at the start and found quite regular.”

“I see,” replied Gerald slowly; but the topic had started Mr. Hall on a fresh trail, and he broke in–

“And it was the only thing in order in the whole business. Do you know we came within an ace of losing, all through their confounded careless way of keeping their papers?”

“How did they keep them?” inquired Gerald listlessly. The suit appeared to be a commonplace one, and the young man’s interest began to wane.

“They didn’t keep them at all,” exclaimed Mr. Hall indignantly. “Fancy, the original deed–the old Spanish grant–the very keystone of our case, was not to be found till the last moment, and then only by the merest accident, and where do you suppose it was?”

“I haven’t an idea,” answered Gerald, stifling a yawn.

“At the back of an old print of the Madonna. It had been framed and hung up as an ornament, I suppose, Heaven knows when; and by- and-by some smart Aleck came along and thought the mother and child superior as a work of art and slapped it into the frame over the deed, and there it has hung for ten years anyhow.”

“That’s really very curious,” said Gerald, whose attention began to revive as he saw a possible column to be compiled on the details of the case that had seemed so uninteresting to his contemporaries.