d
not tell why. By and by, however, he went softly into his father's room,
and into the clothes closet near the head of the bed. Holding the key
toward the lock, he paused listening; it was impossible to rid his mind
of the idea that he was doing something criminal. He shook himself,
smiling at the fancy, assuring himself of the honesty of the thing, yet
opening the box stealthily, holding the key firmly in order that it
might not spring back with a loud click, looking over his shoulder the
while and breathing short through his nose.

The first thing that he saw inside was a loaded revolver, the sudden
view of which sent a little qualm through the pit of his stomach. He
took it out gingerly, holding it at arm's length, throwing open the
cylinder and spilling out the cartridges on the bed, very careful to let
none of them fall on the floor lest they should explode.

Next he drew out the familiar little canvas sack. In it were
twenty-dollar gold-pieces, the coin that used to be "Good for the
Masses." Behind that was about thirty dollars in two rolls, and last of
all in an old, oblong tin cracker-box a great bundle of papers. A list
of these papers was pasted on one end of the box. They comprised deeds,
titles, insurance policies, tax receipts, mortgages, and all the papers
relating to the property. Besides these there was the will.

He took out this box, laying it on the shelf beside him. He was closing
the small iron safe again very quietly when all at once, before he could
think of what he was doing, he ran his hand into the mouth of the canvas
sack, furtively, slyly, snatched one of the heavy round coins, and
thrust it into his vest pocket, looking all about him, listening
intently, saying to himself with a nervous laugh, "Well, isn't it mine
anyway?"

In spite of himself he could not help feeling a joy in the possession of
this money as if of some treasure-trove dug up on an abandoned shore. He
even began to plan vaguely how he should spend it.

However, he could not bring himself to open any of the papers, but sent
them instead to a lawyer, whom he knew his father had often consulted. A
few days later he received a typewritten letter asking him to call at
his earliest convenience.

It was at his residence and not at his office that Vandover saw the
lawyer, as the latter was not well at the time and kept to his bed.
However, he was not so sick but that his doctor allowed him to transact
at least some of his bus