at I did. Reckon I must have given up the information, or
dad couldn't have got it and sent me that letter."

The motor wizard was conscious of a deep distrust regarding that
communication upon which Hill was setting such store. Instinctively he
had become suspicious, and the more he considered the letter's contents,
the more suspicious he became.

"Do you recognize your father's handwriting, Hiram?" asked Clancy.

"Well, hardly," was the grinning response. "Dad got lost in the shuffle
almost before I'd cut my teeth. I'm not familiar with his handwritin'.
Did you read what he says about bein' well off? Gosh! Say, I'm li'ble to
come into some money! I reckon this is one time my cup's right side up
when it rains good luck."

"Haven't you got a sample of your father's penmanship anywhere, Hiram?"

"Not that I know anythin' about. You see, all the letters he'd written I
left back home, and---" Hill paused abruptly. "Gee," he went on,
reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, "I allow I have got a scrap
o' dad's writin'. It's on the back o' that photograft."

He drew the photograph into sight, turned it over, and pushed it under
Clancy's eyes.

"There!" and he pointed with his finger. "That's a sample o' dad's
fist."

Upton Hill, age thirty-six. This was all the writing on the back of the
photograph. It was enough, however. Clancy compared the name signed to
the letter with that on the photograph. It could be seen at a glance
that the same hand had not written the two signatures--they were utterly
different.

"Just as I imagined," observed Clancy. "Hiram, either your father did
not write what is on the back of the photograph, or else that letter is
a forgery. The same hand did not trace the two signatures. Look! You can
see that just as plainly as I can."

Hill took the letter in one hand and the photograph in the other,
squinted up his cross eyes, and tried to institute comparisons.

"The signature ain't the same," he finally agreed, "and that's a fact."

"Which proves that the letter's a forgery."

"I'm not a-sayin' that, Clancy. It can't be that dad wrote what's on the
back o' the picter."

"You have always thought he did the writing on the back of the
photograph, haven't you?"

"Then you're thinking he didn't, now, so you can believe the letter's
genuine."

"Well, what of it? I'd a heap rather pin my faith to the writin' in the
letter than to what's on the photograft."

Clancy saw that argument w