in several transactions involving some
big business deals. Mr. Bartlett had been smart enough, by forming a
directorate within a directorate and by means of a dummy company, to get
a large sum to his credit, while Mr. Carwell was left to face a large
deficit.

"And Harry Bartlett acted as agent for his uncle in the transactions!"
exclaimed Miss Carwell as she looked over the papers.

"But I don't believe he knew anything wrong was being done!" declared
Viola. "I'm positive he didn't. Harry isn't that kind of a man."

"These papers don't say so."

"Naturally you wouldn't expect father to say a good word for one he
considered his business rival, not to say enemy. I don't believe Harry
had anything more to do with it than he had with--with poor father's
death."

Miss Carwell said nothing. She was busy looking over some other papers
which the opening of the private safe had revealed. And then, while her
aunt was engaged with these, Viola found a little bundle that had on it
her name.

For a moment she debated with herself whether or not to open it. The
handwriting was that of her father, and it seemed as though something
stayed her. But she broke the string at last and there tumbled into her
lap some photographs of herself, taken at different ages, a number
of them--in fact, most of them--amateur attempts, some snapped by her
mother and some by her father, as Viola knew from seeing them. She
recalled some very well--especially one taken on the back of a little
Shetland pony. On the reverse of this picture Mr. Carwell had written:
"My dear little girl!"

Viola burst into tears, and her aunt, seeing the cause, felt the strings
of her heart being tugged.

"Well, one thing seems to be proved," said the older woman, when they
were again going over the papers, sorting out some to be shown to the
lawyer who was advising them on the conduct of the estate, "and that is
that your father didn't think very much of Harry Bartlett."

"That was his fault--I mean father's," retorted Viola. "He had no reason
for it, even with what this paper says. I don't believe Harry would do
such a thing."

"Do you suppose the quarrel could have been about this?" and Miss
Carwell held out the journal.

"I don't know what to think," said Viola. "But here is another
memorandum. We must see what this is."

Together they bent over the remaining documents the safe had given
up--secrets of the dead.

As they read a strange look came over Vio